Mortified

Well, it wouldn't be a week in my life if I didn't do something to embarrass myself. I had a 5:30 dermatologist appointment today. My wait in the examining room for the dermatologist took awhile, so I laid back in the chair to relax, putting my forearm over my eyes to block out the harsh fluorescent lights. The doctor came in. We did our thing. (Botox) I left and, because it was such a nice day, decided to walk from 40th and Park home to the Lower East Side. An hour or so later, I arrived home, hit the bathroom, checked myself out in the mirror and realized I had mascara and eyeliner smudged over my entire undereye area, a span of about two inches. Seriously, I looked like a junkie coming off of a week-long bender. The best part? I smiled at a boy during my walk.

It's not as bad as, say, The Roommate deciding to duck into the bathroom, naked, immediately following her gyno appointment, only to realize the door she'd opened was, not only the door to an office, but the door to an OCCUPIED office, but it's still pretty bad.

P.S. Totally kidding about the Botox. It was an eye lift.