Poor Girls Morning Routine Part 1 – Mirra Laes


No car insurance? Oh well. No food money?  As long as there’s still cheese in the fridge we’re fine. Run out of eyeliner and foundation?  We have now entered a LEVEL 10 SPECIAL ALERT PANIC ZONE.

Let us, friends, discuss a poor girl’s take on makeup….

I’ll start right at the beginning.  I wake up and probably have some makeup on from the previous day, creased, caked, and smudgy, my eyes an especially gross event that requires vicious rubbing and picking while I figure out who has to go to the bathroom more urgently, myself or the dog.  The dog statistically has a 85 percent chance of establishing importance in this decision, and I end up immediately regretting it as my urgency goes up by 15 points after stepping out into the ever chilly morning (err noonish) air.

Once the pup has had all his needs taken care of (outside, breakfast, sufficient amount of morning recognition in the form of various pets) I step into the bathroom to do step 1 of my morning stuff.  Step 1 is wash face.  Washing face is essential since my face is covered in previously mentioned leftover makeup as well as drool no doubt.  I want to point out that the face washing situation is very simple. I do not have toner, I don’t have a special wash for certain days or situations, and I don’t have a special sponge, wipe or towel.  I have face wash, the same face wash the boyfriend uses, with little beads of something in it , and the word” Morning” on it in yellow or bright blue.  I use a very small amount, not to conserve as you would assume but because it dries my face out too much as I’m older and my skin is not as greasy and I should have put lotion on it before I went to bed anyway, BUT a poor girl cannot afford face lotion for night and day, that’s like a $9 an hour job luxury.

So my face is washed and I have rubbed my day lotion (which is the one that always wins out because I 1) give less of a shit at night   2) DO NOT WANT WRINKLES, SPF that stuff! 3) I need to look good during the day, not before bed duh.   I put it on my neck as well; I’m pretty terrified of neck wrinkles.  SO now what? I’m almost to the makeup but first I have to spend about 5 years plucking out thick black undesirables with a shitty old, dull tweezers, of which I have a couple and I try them each and realize every fricken day that ALL of them can’t pluck a single hair and I end up throwing them on the ground (because that is apparently how I let future me know things are not good anymore) only to pick them up the next day because they are the only tweezers I have and the hair has got to go.  Oh yeah, also I was not exaggerating when I wrote “next day” because I have to go through this struggle literally every day for the last fifteen years because the hair on my face is a fuck’n jerk.  Thus I begin to pluck. I pluck my chin, upper lip, unibrow (straight down to the middle), and strays on my neck. Once the process that can be best described as never done just acceptable according to time constraints combined with how much I give a fuck on that day I grab the first makeup item…..

To be continued in Part 2.


mirra jean laes writerMirra Laes is an unemployed recent college graduate who lives in the frozen tundra, aka land of ice and snow, aka Green Bay, WI.  Favorite activities include drunkenly tricking people into listening to her play Tom Petty covers and baking homemade dog treats plastered.  Commonly found doing the dishes while listening to Louie CK Pandora station and being festive on holidays.  She enjoys writing about the twilight zone that is everyday life.


  1. Dude: welcome to FnS. What’s your address? I want to buy you a Tweezerman. No, I’m not rolling in the bucks, but you will seriously be indebted to me for the rest of your frigging life. Since you’re young, that probably works out to sixty years of indebtedness for my twenty buck outlay. You emerge loving your new tweezer and I have the opportunity to call you at 4 AM at any point in the future and ask you to kill a guy. Even better for you, there’s no WAY I’ve got 60 years left, but your Tweezerman has a lifetime guarantee. That’s yours, not mine. Also: congrats/condolences on passing Jacki’s extensive, embarrassing sluttiness background check.

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