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Colour me pretty


Diary of a homebird
Ciara Galvin

PUTTING on makeup can be a pain. If I know I’m going to be in the office for the day I don’t bother with the war paint (sorry to all my colleagues). What’s the point? Colleagues are rather like a boyfriend, once you get comfortable with them you feel like you can let your appearance go.
When I apply makeup, the ugly-duckling transformation is so complete that I’ve been blanked by several colleagues at work events in the past. That or they just don’t like me.
I have to say, I do love a good makeover. Letting somebody paint your face is half the fun of going to weddings and dos.
And these days that’s big business, as exemplified from the demand for MUAs (makeup artists) across the country.
Recently, I had the pleasure of getting my makeup done by two expert artists, in the comfort of my own home. The two girls brought their own kit and didn’t charge travel costs. Great.
Now, the two MUAs in question are my nieces, Aoibh and Saoirse. They have a combined  makeup-artistry experience totalling six years. Aoibh is two-and-a-half and Saoirse is over one year her senior.
While on an excursion with her Pops, Saoirse talked her dad into buying her a children’s magazine with colouring pages, puzzles and, unbeknownst, to her daddy, a pretend makeup kit. When I say pretend, I of course mean that while this stuff does actually stick to your face,  it’s no 16-hour pro longwear.
The girls ushered me over to their ‘salon’ (the kitchen table) and began to work their magic. Aoibh picked out the colour, while Saoirse deftly applied it to my lips, and the surrounding area. She was using that Kylie Jenner trick to make lips look bigger, I think.
Unlike other artists who faff about using hygiene sprays on their brushes and cleaning them thrice weekly, this duo prefer more natural methods – sticking the brush in their mouths between each application.
In my head I thought, ‘These people are professionals, they know what they’re doing’, as I squinted when the thirteenth lipstick application was coming my way.
Sure who was I to tell these pros how to do their job. I’m the big aunty, and I go out and buy shoes that are more likely to fit them than me.
(I promise our resident physio columnist, Andrew, it won’t happen again!)

In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old trying to get used to living away from her parents.

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