Cult of Mary Kay Personalities

Monday afternoon I was in my bedroom rearranging the furniture with my husband. Never rearrange furniture with your spouse. Why? In my case a series of events occurred that will change me forever.

During the day while working in our room I had grown more and more frustrated with my husband. We are both type-A personalities. We both think our way is the right and, well, best way to do things. We were both weary of each other's company nearing the end of our furniture placement conquest. Scott had retired downstairs, for what was surely a moment away from his wife, whilst I stayed upstairs to no doubt avoid him when the phone rang. It was for me.

When I picked up my daughter's classmate's mother was on the line. We had met briefly a couple of times. I absolutely did not remember her first name. Her friendly voice explained to me that she sold Mary Kay and had a training session to attend that night. She asked me if I would be willing to go so she could train on how to do a facial on someone. I, in my moment of weakness and need to escape my husband for the evening, agreed to go.

That afternoon my husband asked if I would changing the tire on his truck for him. He had the spare on it and needed the repaired regular tire put back on the truck. He is not a man's man. He doesn't like working on trucks. I agreed to change it for him. During the process I managed to get brake dust and road grime all over myself. Just 30 minutes before I needed to arrive at the Mary Kay function, I quickly showered and threw on a pair of jeans, black button up shirt, and a black pair of boots. I fixed my hair, but did not bother to put on make-up. I was going to get a facial after all. I definitely was not dressed up, I was just somewhat presentable.

I made it to the Mary Kay event just in time. I walked in to find myself in what I will describe as the pit of hell for me. The room was a sunny yellow with hand-painted honey bees zooming all over the walls. Between bees there were inspirational messages painted: "Expect more from yourself because you are your own best friend", "Rise to the occasion", "You can achieve your dreams..." I am immediately convinced that I am witnessing the Cult of Mary Kay complete with not-so-subliminal messages.

As the walls soak into my brain, I look around the room... I find myself in a room with 30 women who are all wearing cheap business suits and red blazers. Their hair is teased to the highest possible points. There were so many rhinestones in the room that I am considering filling suit for eye damage due to the glare. They had on their very best and BRIGHTEST Mary Kay make-up. There were hues of coral, red, and pinks that I didn't know existed in the make-up world...

I took my seat among the women who were all chattering amongst themselves, then out of nowhere the music starts, "I'm Every Woman" is blaring in my ears and the women all jump to their feet and start "whooping" at the top of their lungs. What I would describe as their queen comes in and starts talking about how great Mary Kay is. How inspiring Mary Kay is. Then she asks, "Anyone who has something to Crow about please stand up." Women stand up and start saying things like "I sold $600 this week," "I gave my great-grandmother a Mary Kay makeover and she bought $80 worth," and "I didn't sell anything this week, but I'm so happy to be a Mary Kay representative that I want to CROW." Whilst these women are making these statements the women in the room are literally crowing and whooping like some cranes on the coast of Texas. I've never heard such a noise in all of my life and, mind you, I am a mother of 2 and a substitute teacher!

The women like me who volunteered for the training were asked to go into the other room. At this point I'm scared. I want to run - to run far, far away from there. I do not - for fear that the gaggle of women will hunt me down, knock me out by clocking me on the back of my head with their high heel shoes, disembowel me with their tweezers and consume me ritualistically. So I stay. They give me a facial, which was, dare I admit it, nice.

Then came the make-up. I was painted with some of the brightest and most vibrant of blush, eye make up and lipstick. I ended up looking like, well, one of them. I was a cross between an 80-year-old granny with lavender perfume and a common street walker. Mary Kay herself always tended to go a little heavy with her make-up, so it goes without saying that the cult would do the same to me. They all sported big hair, drawn on eyebrows, thick mascara, and bright lips.

Mind you, I like make-up. I love getting dressed up. I love feeling pretty and feminine. I like walking into a room and people noticing. What woman doesn't like it when she catches a man's eye? It certainly gives me something to smile about for a day or two. But I am also not a typical girly-girl. I prefer sarcastic, gritty humor to romantic comedy. I love war movies and novels. I would much rather go to the lake camping than go to ANY mall! I am just as comfortable hanging out with the guys as I am hanging out with the girls. I'm a tomboy dressed up in women's clothing.

I am asked what I like about the make-up. I tell them that all of the colors are fine, but just applied a little too heavy. Then I say, "BUT, I Hate the lipstick!" All of my fellow guinea pigs agree with me about the lipstick.

Next, they walk us back into the original room and line us up in front of the women. Then we are told, "You tell us what you like about our products and then the women will tell you what they like best about our products on you." I want to scream. I want to run and hide. I fear for my life and sanity! There is no part of me that wants to do this.

When it is my turn I say, "Umm, I don't feel like I'm wearing any make-up." The cult starts whooping and yelling "Yeah! WOOHOO! She Likes Our Make-up!" "Yeah, You look GOOOOOOD!!!" "WOO-HOO!" If it is at all possible, I am even more uncomfortable at that moment than I have been in my entire life. When up pipes the only testosterone in the room. He is a large black man who it completely bald. Kind of a Michael Clarke Duncan in the Green Mile. He, until this time, has remained completely silent sitting in a chair at the back of the room behind a small p.a. system and a stereo. He is the D.J. for the evening. Taking his cues from the women playing songs like "Respect", "I'm Every Woman" and so forth. He says in his baritone voice, "I Like her Lipstick!" All of the women start squawking and howling... "yeah, the man likes your lipstick!" Of course he does, it's what makes me look like a 2-bit hooker! I'm now in some sort of out of body experience and do not know what to do. So I look at him and wink while I do that "point-your-finger-and-make-it-look-like-a-gun-thing." The women cheer. He reaches up to his stereo while he smiles at me and begins playing "I'm too Sexy" by Right Said Fred. I want to die!

I took my leave as fast as humanly possible, but before I left the women gather around me and ask me if I would like to become a Mary Kay consultant. I politely decline, but then they trust a ribbon into my hand that looks like it comes from an elementary science fair project. It is a Mac-N-Cheese yellow with green metallic print that says "I'm Special - Mary Kay." I don't know what to say, so one woman pipes up and says, "You can hang this on your rear view mirror in your car - cause you are special to us here at Mary Kay!" The woman closed in like she was going to hug me, but I quickly said, "Umm, thanks, but I need to get going. Thanks you guys" and began to back away.

I did finally make my way out of the hell hole and away from the Cult of Mary Kay Personalities without any bodily harm.

I called my husband on my way home and recounted my brush with death and the occult. Then I said, "Honey, I need to come home, watch a football game, scratch myself and fart to decompress...." I ended up watching a basketball game on TV instead. And yes, I farted and Scratched... I still have my mind intact, but I will never be the same - Thanks Mary Kay!

~Rambling Jenn~