The first step is admitting you have a problem

It started out harmless enough, with a tube of lipstick my senior year in college. I remember it well — it was called Raisinberry. I guess you never forget your first.

And after Raisinberry came Endless Performance Mascara, then Crystalline eyeshadow, then Oil-Free Eye Makeup Remover. I didn't see it then for what it really was. Every couple of weeks, my coworker — a part-time Mary Kay Independent Sales Associate — called to see if I wanted something new or improved or on sale.

But soon, I was buying Mary Kay beauty products left and right. Things with mysterious names ... like Day Solution and Night Solution. I didn't know what they did or what was in them, but for $60, I figured they had to be doing some good. She assured me I was on the right track to being as beautiful as Mary Kay Ash herself. If I'd seen a picture of Mary Kay Ash, I would have called it quits right then. Instead, I kept buying creams and salves and strange-smelling liquids I was supposed to smooth onto my skin twice daily.

After a while, my dealer — err, coworker — said she'd cut me a break. Join Mary Kay and I'd feed my addiction at wholesale price, half off what I'd normally pay. All I had to do was fill out a form and sign the bottom line. Oh, and give her a hundred bucks. It was a serious lapse in judgment, but it's hard to think straight when you're wondering where you're going to get your next eyeshadow fix.

After I started to sober up, I realized I'd thrown away a hundred bucks. A hundred bucks! But within 24 hours, I had a sales director telling me I'd made the right decision, that I'd never regret it. She consoled me, soothed me with Extra Emollient Night Cream.

Then she dropped the bomb. Told me I needed to do this right. If I really wanted to succeed, I needed to pay the company $3,600 in the next three days. Or, she told me sourly, if I was too cheap to pursue real success, the company would let me squeak by with a mere $600 investment.

What the hell? All I wanted was my fix at half price. I had a stable job that paid the bills and kept me from having to hawk nail polish to total strangers.

[Err, I lost a long and boring-ish portion of the post here, in which I said I decided to only sell enough to keep my discount and was seriously creeped out when I went to a conference and saw a roomful of women chanting mantras to a slideshow of Mary Kay photos.]

That was four years ago. Tonight, I decided to clean house — literally and figuratively. So I've taken a final inventory, packed up my purple-and-while filing cabinet, and closed it for the last time. If anyone needs anything — eye cream, lip enhancer, cheek color — feel free to take it off my hands. Just know what you're getting yourself into.

And let me keep my last tube of Raisinberry. It holds a special place in my heart.