Watermelon Whim

Entering the local corner pharmacy is always tricky; nearly always, I have a specific set of items, necessities, toiletries, but also nearly always I am tempted by the sweet, seductive siren calls ringing loud and pure from the cosmetics aisles. The inexpensive tubes of lipsticks, rows upon rows, like a choir, singing; bottles of captured color, nail varnish, each cheekily and brilliantly named, an array, singing. I succumbed, weak to the potent allure of these two watermelon shades, quintessential summer alchemized into a bit of chemical decoration. For future endeavors, I need to angle my body, equip myself with either proverbial or literal blinders, dash for my bit of toilet paper or box of toothpaste and run out, blind, ears shut.