Usually I pass through a supermarket checkout with little interaction. Do I have my own plastic bags? Do I have a nectar card? Twelve pounds sixty five please Sir. For the most part, these women are bored out of their tiny boxes and the quicker they can push you through the tills the better, or so it seems. It isn't always that bad. Sometimes I make a lame joke and they politely smile. You get the feeling they've heard me say that one a couple of times before.

Yesterday the woman on the till was decidedly chatty. I sensed a certain enquiry as to whether I had kids. Expensive aren't they? Well, probably, I'm too busy finding enough money to pay for my meagre needs, never mind a family. She looked up with a cheery smile having convinced herself that I was a responsible father and then I noticed the makeup. Mascarra an inch thick surrounding her eyes. It looked horrendous.

It would be easy to think she's after me, but then, I could have used any lane of the four normally in use, and she wouldn't know I was popping in at that particular time. I made another lame joke and having paid for the goods, left forthwith.

Womens makeup is a funny thing. Used properly it really can make a woman look her best. I've seen one woman in particular wipe fifteen years off her face with expert application. Used with all the skill of a painter and decorator, it looks more like desperation. I wonder sometimes if ladies realise that a nice smile and a friendly manner usually wins the day? We blokes are suckers for women anyway, nature having made us that way, although I accept our motivations are often physical.

Or, is there an unknown woman at the supermarket, quietly plotting to ensare me... I hope she uses less makeup.

Accusation of the Week

I was but a young lad, invited to Dungeons & Dragons session and keen to take part. The game was okay, I guess, DP was a hugely imaginative guy but without any ability in gamemastering (or indeed, social interaction). At one point in the proceedings, just before I went home, one of the two adult players said "Your mascara is slipping".

Eh? What? Was that an insult? What's he on about? I was completely mystified at his knowing smirk. No matter. The next week I discovered him to be a poet, and boy oh boy did I make him feel uncomfortable with a much bigger smirk of my own. Mascara duly returned I think. Never did see him at the table again.