So, this is a thing I own:
Don’t ask me why I own this – the answer is ‘because I’m a bit stupid’.
Back in the day, this was a must for every girl who wanted to make herself beautiful, before a hard day’s running round yelling, using the trundle wheel, or nipping boys.
I can confirm that ownership of this as a fat middle-aged woman does not make me feel beautiful. Maybe I will once we’ve examined the contents.
Play tissue box, Model’s perfume
Fun fact – the girl on the ‘play tissue box’ is probably on HRT now. Or she would be if she weren’t a painting. It will surprise nobody to know that there is no perfume in that bottle. I’ll have to just imagine what models smell like. Probably Hula Hoops, TCP and old pants.
These are mysterious. Model’s what? Further thought has narrowed it down to the following:
- Model’s piss
- Model’s monosodium glutomate
- Model’s gin to make her feel radiant
Whatever they are I’d better figure it out soon if I want to be a model.
There’s no mirror in this compact, not even a shit one made of foil. They must have known I wouldn’t want to look at myself. As for the lipstick, if you think I’m putting that anywhere near my mouth after it’s been hanging round in that packet for two decades, you are wrong. Actually that’s a fib, but there’s no point and I’m lazy.
To finish off, we have things to beautify your hair and neck. Considering both are about the size of a Hobnob, I’m not going to try using them. This is a blow, because it means I can’t make myself feel beautiful after all. Not that plastic lipstick and ‘model’s piss’ would necessarily have helped anyway.