An Open Letter to My Former Roommate: I lied a few minutes ago, when I told you that I can't feel pain. In truth, my right big toe is ridiculously sensitive, and stubbing it on something makes me want to cry.
However, I would also like to thank you for not only watching the same Lifetime rerun of How I Met Your Mother that I was, but for reminding me of a lie to which I should probably confess, and a Mary Kay saleswoman to whom I should probably apologize.
It started three years ago, when we went shopping for fancy dresses. We were poor, and most of the dresses ended with us saying, "Yeah, I'm totally buying this one once I get a real job."
Turns out, that was a lie, as we're both still waiting for Real Jobs.
However, while fantasy shopping, I couldn't help but notice dozens of contest drawing-boxes scattered all over the mall. Those boxes are a great equalizer: rich people, poor people... no one can resist slipping in an entry.
I, like most people, entered without reading exactly what I was entering. Therefore, a week later, I received quite the shock when my phone rang, and I answered to hear a chipper woman babbling away.
"Hi, is this Ashlea? This is Khrystyn, letting you know that you're our lucky makeover girl! Break out your day planner, babe, because we need to do this before the big day! Are your ladies in town? You know you want them to be there!"
The only word that made it to my consciousness was "makeover." That, I could handle.
"A makeover? Did I sign up for that?"
High-pitched giggle. "Not exactly! Do you remember the Super Bride Sweepstakes you entered? You're our big winner! I'm your Mary Kay makeup consultant! So give me some days, girl, and let's do this thing!"
The phrase "Super Bride" should have sounded the alarm. It really, really should have. But instead, I told her my friends and I would meet her at three o'clock the next Tuesday.
"Ohmigod, Tuesday afternoons are seriously the best days for makeup. Something about sleep cycles and skin oxygenation, I think! (side note: seriously? Who says shit like that?) So you can get your bridesmaids together? What about your fiance-- do you want him to come along and watch?"
At this point, an honest person would say that they weren't getting married. That they were nowhere near getting married, not for another 10 years, at least.
I, however, am not that girl.
"Uuummm... I think I'll leave him at home, actually. But the bridesmaids and I are for def on, see you then!"
My roommate, bless her soul, actually helped me convince a half-dozen girls to play along, and really, for a free makeover... no one's righteousness really extends that far. Of course, they did all point out to me that I probably needed an entire engagement story, if the makeover ladies should ask.
So... thus began the ballad of Ashlea and Caleb. He was a 27-year-old Auburn graduate, dark-haired, an architect. There was some debate as to whether we had been in a long relationship, since we were children in the Appalachian backwoods, but before meeting with Khrystyn, I decided that no, ours was most likely a whirlwind. After all, Ashlea and Caleb regularly fought when her spontaneity clashed with his Type-A personality, so of course he would propose on a whim, in order to prove that he could do things without a plan.
During the makeover (after which, I purchased a Mary Kay lipstick, in order not to feel like the world's biggest freeloader), we talked about Caleb for exactly 12 seconds.
"So tell me about your fella!"
"His name's Caleb. He's an architect."
"Ooohhh, how fun! Now, have you tried these new mineral eye shadows? They'll really make your eyes pop!"
The fake wedding should have ended there. But, winners for the Super Bride sweepstakes are inundated with phone calls and fliers from every bridal show, dress company, caterer, cruise company under the sun.
For a two-week period, I was afraid to check the mail, afraid of the bright pink envelopes congratulating me on starting my "new life!" I was also offended by their anti-feminist, "you're not complete until you're married" mindset.
The turning point came, I thought, when I received a $20 gift card from Target. It didn't specifically tell me to use it on wedding stuff; however, the little cartoon bride and groom were probably a hint. However, I took the card as a sign that the Super Bride people were sorry for flooding my mailbox and using enough paper to destroy a small forest.
Also, like I said, I was super, super poor, and a girl's gotta eat. So that $20 bought Ramen, Little Debbie Cakes, and enough peanut butter to feed a third-grade class.
Maybe it was stealing, a little bit. Maybe Target should have thrown me in their special little Target prison, taken a Polaroid, and hung my picture on their Wall of Shame.
However, karma bitch-slapped me in a far worse way than Target could have. A month after the Target card, the wedding mail finally died down, and I got a phone call.
"Hi, Ashlea! It's Khrystyn Winter, calling from Mary Kay! I just realized-- after we had our little party, you didn't tell me the wedding date! We need to set that up so our girls can make you and your ladies beautiful for the big day!"
I was quicker on my feet this time. I told her that we hadn't set a date yet, to be honest, we weren't in a big rush. That reasoning, I thought, should handle it.
But, no. Three months later, she calls to see if I need more lipstick. I tell her I rarely wear makeup, and that lipstick should last a long time (lie. But too poor to afford nice lipstick). Three months later, she calls again to check about the wedding date.
It was time to end this thing. I took a deep breath, made my voice shaky, and informed Ms. Winter that the wedding was, sadly, totally canceled. If the situation were reversed, I would have felt so awkward, I'd have no choice but to hang up the phone and never, ever contact that person again.
I, however, am not a Mary Kay rep.
"Oh, honeybun, that's awful! You know what you need? A new, fresh look! Get out your planner, we're going to do you over! Are your bridesmaids still around? I'm sure they'd love to come, too..."
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