New adventures in cosmetics

I look pretty much the way I look. I wake up and I leave. Zero prep time. From an effort to results ratio point of view I score highly. From a pure results point of view, not as well but I'm hoping that people apply a weighting to the results and I get noticed for being generally on time and holding doors open unless I'm late and worried about not being on time. I need the extra punctuality marks. All this is a prelude to my trip into the pharmacy to buy some sort of lip balm or lip treatment as some pompous brands call themselves. Hardly a day at the spa is it? I've been in chemists before. I've cracked things, sprained things, had various unpleasant illnesses that I needed chemical assistance to defeat. I'm no stranger. I know my way around a pack of anti-inflammatories. This is different. The difference between being audience and performer. The nerves tear at me. I approach the pretty girl in the pharmacy, unsure if she's just a part timer or has a degree in Pharmacology andmy question will bore her. I affect an air of nonchalance, as if I do this all the time. It slips almost instantly. I'm conscious of what I'm wearing. I realise my left nostril is blocked. Maybe the reduced oxygen intake is making me sound like an idiot. Did I actually say that? The girl is a part timer. My attempt at an intelligent question about proteins and ph and something else result in a bemused stare. She really wishes she got the old man who lost his wife and justs wants to talk about his problems to someone. But that guy went to the other girl, the one I suspect has a degree in a related field. She looks unhappy too. I'm directed to an unsorted box of different lip goo. They come in stick or tub form. The main selling points and differences seem to revolve around flavour and whether or not you've gotten over the juvenile idea of carrying vaseline around with you. As she doesn't seem to know or care about any of my questions I explain patiently that I am looking for the manliest of lip treatments. Again some puzzlement. Hiding at the bottom I see a Neutrogena box. They make things for fishermen. Surely some of that technology has filtered through to their image obsessed teen division? The fishermen know my pain. Chapped lips brought on by standing in the cold. When has Norway let me down? I pick up the box but the girl has really started to push the carmex. "It's the most popular brand", she says. "But do you sell to many men", I retort with chest puffed out meaningfully. She falls silent. Contemplatively. My purchase complete, I leave. With a minimum of fuss. I look ridiculous. I cannot imagine how any self respecting fisherman on a floating bastion of heterosexuality that is the modern fishing boat can look in the mirror as he does the routine, that trace the lips with the stick, rub them together and pout routine. He'd be raped as a lesson not to be so fucking effeminate. The Norwegians wouldn't allow that. It is easy for me to love myself, but for ladies to do it is another question altogether. - Johnny Vegas Recent and obvious enough that I don't need to explain