Rejected Reviews — One Angry Waitress

I don’t often comment when I buy a new product. I feel that that’s something best left to the influencers of the world, people who care about how they look every moment of the day, people who’ve never leaned into a beer cooler and thought to themselves, “Ah, this is exactly why my mother said that I really should wear a bra everywhere.”

But every now and then, I’ll buy something that really steams my clams, and I feel compelled to say something about it. Yet every time I try to post one of these reviews, something about my diction makes the moderators refuse to let it through. So, here’s a couple of them. Maybe someone can tell me what I’ve been doing wrong.

Tarte Lights, Camera, Splashes Mascara. Waterproof.

I have sensitive eyes, and was in the market for something that didn’t feel like a tube full of knives, when the girl at the makeup shop suggested that I try this.

“It’s full of natural ingredients like dolphin semen, unicorn farts and panda wishes; it’s amazing” (these were not her actual words, but as I can’t remember exactly, I’ve tried to recreate them as best as I can).

Then, she disappeared into the back of the store, presumably, to sleep off whatever it was that she’d taken. Heeding her glowing recommendation, I bought a tube and rushed home to try it.

At first, the mascara was just a little itchy. As the day wore on though, I began to suspect that it was made of broken glass. At the end of the day, my eyes were on fire, and by the time I got home, the mascara had entirely migrated to the area beneath my eyes.

“Take that off right now,” my partner ordered, “or people will think that I hit you.”

So, naturally, I went out and got the mail before removing it.

I returned the mascara a few days later, and I was hoping to talk to the girl who’d sold it to me. I wanted to let her know that it’s not for everybody, but I guess she’d run off to become a roadie for the Glorious Sons. I’m glad for her, it sounds like a great fit.

Laneige Water Bank Hydro Gel

I recently purchased a bottle of this skin cream, with its new, tweaked formula. The problem, I quickly discovered, is that I might not have gotten lotion at all, but rather a container of whatever sort of adhesive they use to glue the box-tops closed. Every morning, I literally have to peel myself off of my pillowcase. This, I suppose, at least counts as a sort of exfoliation, so there’s that.

Also, I was told that it now had an overpowering scent, but I actually don’t find it as strong-smelling as their old stuff. Then again, if it is glue, perhaps this is what glue smells like. I’d compare the two, but if I started huffing Elmer’s around the house—given that I already have to literally peel myself off the bed-sheets each morning—that might be the final straw that convinces my partner to move me out.

Then again, I did catch him wearing a pair of my socks yesterday, so who knows where the line is anymore?

I don’t understand it, they seem fine. I’ve got to go though, the boyfriend and I are about to draw straws for who has to go for a beer run, and as I’m yet to get out of my pajamas, there’s kind of a lot riding on this for me.