never would be) but my waves were a little less frizz-i-fied. I looked beachy . Bingo. A calorie burned!
I exited the bathroom and headed toward the exhibit hall—ignoring the pot stench—totally psyched for a fab day until I passed a purple arrow-shaped sign in the hall with two curious words. Psychic Fair.
Cute signage, but I didn't remember seeing it during exhibitor set up. Not that I had anything against psychics (well, except maybe one in particular), but this was supposed to be a wellness show. The information online had advertised, the best in body, mind, and spirit medicine , which I'd interpreted as naturopathic doctors, chiropractors, acupuncturists, holistic nutritionists, energy workers, and other healers.
Not tarot card readers.
Befuddled, yet intent on calorie burning, I walked inside. Flute music drifted from overhead speakers, and earthy incense hung in the air. A green banner with the words New Spiritual Beginnings Start Here hung from the ceiling. A few people milled around, checking out the offerings.
"Would you like a reading?" A woman with a shiny platinum bob and a face of gorgeously applied evening makeup smiled at me. She sat behind a table covered in a black sheet, decorated with a few boxes of tarot cards and a wooden cut-out sign—doused in gold glitter—that read, Vesta, Intuitive Vegan Vixen.
The vixen part totally fit.
"Awesome eye shadow. The dark gray compliments your outfit." I stared at her cosmetics a little closer. That shimmering sheen looked very familiar. "Is that Sparkle O?"
Her face lit up like a jack-o-lantern. "Yeah, how'd you know?"
I laughed. "I've been a distributor for a long time. I made national executive vice-president last year." The good thing was, because she was a Sparkle O user, I didn't have to defend the fact it was a multilevel marketing company.
"I'm a distributor too." She jumped up. "Do you have the Sparkle O car?"
I whipped out my cell phone and showed her the screensaver. "Just got Pinky last year. She drives like a dream."
We both gawked, mouths open and hearts pounding, at the image of my adorable, hot pink MINI Cooper with rhinestone-encrusted windshield wipers and rims. The ultimate measure of success with Sparkle O Organic Skincare and Cosmetics, Inc. After an appropriate moment of reverence, we simultaneously burst into the company's jingle.
"Make yourself sparkle with Sparkle O organic makeup!"
Awesome. Another fellow Sparkle O enthusiast.
We squealed at the insider's joke. The New Beginnings show was looking promising despite the odd sign. But then Vesta stiffened and crawled into her shell as if an old-maid librarian had shushed her for being too loud in the library.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I probably shouldn't talk about this here." She cast a nervous gaze around the expo hall. "My boyfriend hates Sparkle O."
"But it's organic."
"I know, I know," she said with a wave of her delicate hand (nails painted in Sparkle O's signature Peony Obsession, I noted). "But he's psychotic about any makeup because he thinks women should be naturally beautiful. He hates my blonde highlights too."
I jerked my head back so hard I nearly snapped my neck. Had I just encountered my long lost sister? "So does my boyfriend. He wants me to go au naturel ." Like that would ever happen.
"How can men not understand the need for highlights?"
"Beats me. And my boyfriend wants me to quit eating all forms of dark chocolate." I laughed at Floyd's absurdity.
Her eyes widened, casting off mega Sparkle O shimmers. "My boyfriend's crazy like that too, and it's so dumb because dark chocolate's good for you."
"I know! Who doesn't love anti-oxidants?"
"Amazing how much we have in common." Her voice shot up to a soprano level, but then she sobered. She narrowed her eyes into freaky slits and clenched her jaw. "Wait a minute. Your boyfriend hates highlights and chocolate too?"
"Sadly, yes."
"That's awfully coincidental." Her gaze could have burned through my
I exited the bathroom and headed toward the exhibit hall—ignoring the pot stench—totally psyched for a fab day until I passed a purple arrow-shaped sign in the hall with two curious words. Psychic Fair.
Cute signage, but I didn't remember seeing it during exhibitor set up. Not that I had anything against psychics (well, except maybe one in particular), but this was supposed to be a wellness show. The information online had advertised, the best in body, mind, and spirit medicine , which I'd interpreted as naturopathic doctors, chiropractors, acupuncturists, holistic nutritionists, energy workers, and other healers.
Not tarot card readers.
Befuddled, yet intent on calorie burning, I walked inside. Flute music drifted from overhead speakers, and earthy incense hung in the air. A green banner with the words New Spiritual Beginnings Start Here hung from the ceiling. A few people milled around, checking out the offerings.
"Would you like a reading?" A woman with a shiny platinum bob and a face of gorgeously applied evening makeup smiled at me. She sat behind a table covered in a black sheet, decorated with a few boxes of tarot cards and a wooden cut-out sign—doused in gold glitter—that read, Vesta, Intuitive Vegan Vixen.
The vixen part totally fit.
"Awesome eye shadow. The dark gray compliments your outfit." I stared at her cosmetics a little closer. That shimmering sheen looked very familiar. "Is that Sparkle O?"
Her face lit up like a jack-o-lantern. "Yeah, how'd you know?"
I laughed. "I've been a distributor for a long time. I made national executive vice-president last year." The good thing was, because she was a Sparkle O user, I didn't have to defend the fact it was a multilevel marketing company.
"I'm a distributor too." She jumped up. "Do you have the Sparkle O car?"
I whipped out my cell phone and showed her the screensaver. "Just got Pinky last year. She drives like a dream."
We both gawked, mouths open and hearts pounding, at the image of my adorable, hot pink MINI Cooper with rhinestone-encrusted windshield wipers and rims. The ultimate measure of success with Sparkle O Organic Skincare and Cosmetics, Inc. After an appropriate moment of reverence, we simultaneously burst into the company's jingle.
"Make yourself sparkle with Sparkle O organic makeup!"
Awesome. Another fellow Sparkle O enthusiast.
We squealed at the insider's joke. The New Beginnings show was looking promising despite the odd sign. But then Vesta stiffened and crawled into her shell as if an old-maid librarian had shushed her for being too loud in the library.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I probably shouldn't talk about this here." She cast a nervous gaze around the expo hall. "My boyfriend hates Sparkle O."
"But it's organic."
"I know, I know," she said with a wave of her delicate hand (nails painted in Sparkle O's signature Peony Obsession, I noted). "But he's psychotic about any makeup because he thinks women should be naturally beautiful. He hates my blonde highlights too."
I jerked my head back so hard I nearly snapped my neck. Had I just encountered my long lost sister? "So does my boyfriend. He wants me to go au naturel ." Like that would ever happen.
"How can men not understand the need for highlights?"
"Beats me. And my boyfriend wants me to quit eating all forms of dark chocolate." I laughed at Floyd's absurdity.
Her eyes widened, casting off mega Sparkle O shimmers. "My boyfriend's crazy like that too, and it's so dumb because dark chocolate's good for you."
"I know! Who doesn't love anti-oxidants?"
"Amazing how much we have in common." Her voice shot up to a soprano level, but then she sobered. She narrowed her eyes into freaky slits and clenched her jaw. "Wait a minute. Your boyfriend hates highlights and chocolate too?"
"Sadly, yes."
"That's awfully coincidental." Her gaze could have burned through my
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