There are two things a person should never have to do on a Sunday morning. The first being, having to wash makeup brushes, the second is having to apply E45 cream to your swollen, crusty eyelids.
Today I did both.
It was Scott's birthday on Friday and to celebrate, we brunched with a couple of our friends. Brunch turned into post-brunch cocktails, which turned into doing the Macarena, which ultimately turned into jugs of beers and eating a pretzel larger than my head at Oktoberfest. I mean, I've had worse Fridays...
What I didn't anticipate was the state in which I was to wake up in on Saturday morning. And we're not even talking hangover, which yes, was present but nothing groundbreaking. No, my body decided to go one better and kick start some kind of allergic reaction on my eyelids - causing them to swell up to puffy, creaseless globes on my face. Which, if that wasn't attractive enough, were also itchy and flaky as hell.
My husband's a lucky man.
If you follow along with my Snapchats, you may have seen me complaining about my dry/flaky eyelids a couple of weeks ago. My skin seems to have decided it's had enough of me lately and has been going through a rebellious, pre mid-life crisis, crisis. Basically, it doesn't want to play ball. I've been forgoing eye cream because everything I use just further irritates my skin however, after several mojitos and a currywurst, the smartypants in me not only slathered my eyes in night cream, but also scrubbed them with makeup remover pads too.
So here we are, with what Google tells me is some sort of eyelid dermatitis and that small piece of inner hatred that you reserve for yourself when you do something particularly stupid after a beverage or four. I fly home this week. Back to the UK to see friends and family, some of which I haven't seen for over a year, and this is the state I've gone and got myself into.
If anyone needs me, I'm going to be on my back with a stick of cucumber.