My girlfriend wears too much makeup. This isn’t an exaggeration. She genuinely wears too much. She seems to have layers upon layers of foundation, concealer and God knows what else just caked onto her face. But it’s not only that. She puts makeup on her neck too. And her chest. It honestly seems like every part of her that isn’t covered by clothing is coated with the stuff.
We’ve been dating for almost a year now. I’m attracted to her, of course, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked her out. However, this issue has really put a significant amount of strain on our relationship.
She refuses to do any activity that could potentially ruin her makeup and I don’t just mean swimming or running. Getting caught in the rain, touching any part of her face, or kissing for any longer than ten seconds is also banned.
Now, I’ve tried to be understanding. Everyone loves a little makeup, but I think at this point, it’s gone slightly too far. I’ve never seen her apply it from scratch either. Whenever I am with her, she just continually piles it on.
There’s something else too. She doesn’t take it off when she goes to sleep. We’re both college students and still live with our parents, so we often have sleepovers at each other’s houses. Now, I understand she might not feel comfortable enough to let me see her bare faced, but honestly, it’s got to the point where we are openly discussing marriage and building a life together, and I still don’t really know what she looks like. It’s bugging me, and I have no idea how to tell her, because the last time I tried she got really upset.
“It can’t be good for your skin,” I told her.
But she’d only pursed her lips and ignored me for the rest of the day. I started thinking that perhaps there was more to this than meets the eye. It seemed like she had an extreme phobia-like condition of being seen without makeup. I thought that perhaps she’d come around if I made her feel like she was beautiful without it, but it didn’t help.
As I said, we’ve been in a relationship for almost a year, and I was getting increasingly frustrated with the situation. I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries, but I thought it was only fair that I got to see my soon-to-be-fiancée without layers and layers of foundation.
We were staying at my parents’ house that particular night and I’d stayed up a little bit later to finish some work. I hadn’t exactly been planning on this, but after having a few drinks, it suddenly seemed like the logical thing to do.
I was going to take her makeup off. Okay, maybe not all of it. I didn’t want to run the risk of waking her up in the process, but I truly did want her to see just how beautiful she was without it. I mean, at this point, something had to give.
I raided my mother’s bathroom cabinet for some cleanser and cotton pads and then snuck into the bedroom, carefully shutting the door behind me. My girlfriend was lying on her side and even from the foot of the bed, I could see orange makeup stains on the white sheets. I walked around to her side of the bed and perched lightly on the mattress. Then, I wet the cotton pad and lightly dabbed her cheek with it.
Nothing happened.
I wiped a bit harder.
Still nothing.
I could see the makeup coming off on the pad, but her face looked exactly the same. I took out another pad and continued the process, wiping the same area over and over. Then, I saw it.
A redness had appeared under the layers. Was it acne? Was that what she had been so afraid to show me?
But the more I rubbed, the more apparent it became that it wasn’t acne at all. It was rugged. Fleshy almost. It looked like… It looked like under her makeup; my girlfriend didn’t actually have any skin at all…
I stared at it, my own skin prickling. What was that? It looked like flesh and muscle fused together, like one of those educational mannequins with their face split in half…
Suddenly, my girlfriend shifted and opened her eyes. I could see panic in them before she even had a chance to speak.
“Tom? What are you doing?”
She sat up, scanning her surroundings. I could see her gaze sweep over the cleanser and cotton pads. She immediately cupped her face in her hands, until she felt the patch I’d wiped off.
“What have you done?!” she cried, sliding out of bed in one swift motion.
She ran to the mirror on the wall and wailed as she saw the damage. Then, she turned to me, her eyes wide.
“You didn’t touch it, did you?”
I stared at her.
“Touch… what?”
“That!” she exclaimed, gesturing to the patch on her face.
“I- I- I don’t know,” I stammered, “W-why?”
But she wasn’t listening. She flung the bedroom door open and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.
“Caitlin!” I yelled after her.
She returned within two minutes, clutching a kitchen knife.
“Whoa, whoa!” I exclaimed, “What’s that for?”
“Shut up,” she commanded, “Which hand did you touch it with?”
My eyes must have been like saucers.
“Tom! Show me!”
I pointed to my right hand.
“Alright, how long ago?”
“Ten..?” my voice was nothing but a squeak.
Her eyes widened.
“It’s too late. Your whole arm must go.”
I wriggled out and flew across the room.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled at her, “You can’t cut my arm off!”
She looked stern.
“I have to, Tom, otherwise the infection will spread.”
“What infection? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Tom, please! It has to be done now!”
Obviously, I wasn’t going to let her cut my arm off. I leaped out of the room, slamming the door behind me, and fiddling with the key. I heard her screaming and banging on the door, demanding to be let out. My parents came out of their own bedroom to see what was going on, but I simply told them that we’d had an argument and they didn’t question it further.
I slept on the couch that night, or well, at least I tried to. I couldn’t wrap my head around what had happened. I’d never seen my girlfriend so riled up before - she would have cut my arm off without hesitation! I could still hear her bawling upstairs. Only about an hour later did she finally quieten down and go to bed.
In the morning, I went upstairs to my bedroom to let her out. I wasn’t sure what to expect, so I armed myself with a knife of my own just in case she decided to pounce and decapitate me as soon as I opened the door.
But that didn’t happen. In fact, my girlfriend was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the wall. She didn’t even look up as I walked in, but I could see she’d reapplied her makeup on the side of her face.
“Caitlin?”
Nothing.
“Hello?”
She turned to look at me and her eyes narrowed. She didn’t exactly look like she was ready to attack, but I couldn’t be too careful all the same.
“I don’t think this is going to work out,” she finally said.
“What? Why?”
“You’re not trustworthy,” she retorted, surveying me.
“I’m not trustworthy? Because I wouldn’t let you cut off my arm?”
“You knew I didn’t want to take my makeup off, and yet you did it anyway,” she said, “It’s over, Tom.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded.
“I only wanted what’s best for us! I didn’t know about your…problem!”
She smiled sheepishly.
“Yeah, well, looks like it’s your problem now too,” she said, getting up to leave, “Oh, and Tom, you’ll need this.”
She thrust a bottle into my hands.
“It’s the one I use,” she said, shutting the door behind her.
Huh? I flipped the bottle in my hands. It was foundation. What was I meant to do with this? Keep it as a fond memory? I chucked it into the bin in my room and made my way downstairs for breakfast. I’d heard my parents clattering the plates in the kitchen. As soon as I stepped into the room, however, my mother dropped one onto the floor.
“Oh, my goodness, Tom!” she cried, “What happened to your face?”