Tag Archives: Makeup

Folly of the youth


So yesterday morning my brother’s wife apparently gave her daughter a stern talking-to about messing around in my stuff, which of course resulted in a sulking and petulant teen. And she thought I must be a total idiot (she’s not aware that I take pictures of her misdemeanours) because she went right back and fiddled.

It’s less obvious than the previous day, except…

I was sitting on my bed rubbing my hair dry when something on her desk caught my eye. A little box. A little box I keep at the back of my drawer. Inside my little box there’s a tiny fairy pendant with a round amber stone. I bought it last year at the African Mineral and Gem exhibition in Brooklyn Mall. It cost me R120 – the price was still floating on the soft cotton the pendant lays. When I opened the box, all is as I had it, except for a piece of paper from a plaster. I closed it, and waited.

When my brother came home I said I wanted to show him something. He went very quiet after I told him the box’s history, and told me to put it back in my drawer. He then offered to give me a cupboard where I can lock my stuff up. This is not a solution for me, because it means that I’m going through the hassle of locking up and fetching out my stuff everyday, while she’s getting away with being an insolent little bitch.

Then her mother came and “gave me permission” to confront her the next time she messes in my stuff. I said thanks, but thought to myself, if she has no regard for any kind of discipline her parents try to impose (when they can be bothered to), why would she pay any mind to anything I have to say. The only thing that might break her is carrying on with my daily pictures, confronting her every single day if that’s what it comes down to, showing her that she’s not as cunning as she thinks she is.


Spot the difference


Since moving in with my brother and his new family in August, I’ve been concerned about my precious (expensive) makeup being abused by the fourteen-year-old brat I share my room with. Finally I decided to do a little experiment. Yesterday, before leaving the house, I left a little note in my makeup drawer, telling her in no uncertain terms to leave my stuff alone, and took a picture. I don’t think she thought I’d do that. Below is that picture.

When I got home yesterday afternoon I had to first put away the iron and ironing board blocking the way to my bed, turn a blind eye to the scattering of sanitary pads on the floor, and then opened my top drawer. This is what I found:

Can you see the difference? I was so angry (and still, everytime I think about it I start shaking all over) I thought I was going to have a stroke. The worst part of it all is that despite having this evidence, I can’t confront her. So I repeated the experiment again, and if she’s been in my stuff again (I didn’t say anything yesterday to let on I know she’s been in my stuff, and the note I left this morning was in a different font).

I’m desperate to now find alternative residence until our place is finished (hopefully end of November) for the sake of my stuff not being used by a selfish little bitch. I’m tired of bottling up all the anger and frustration, and it’s no wonder I constantly feel tired and sick.

I just wanted to get all this out of my system, and I suppose verification that I’m not insane and that she is, in fact, messing around in my stuff.