Funeral Lipstick

I called it my Funeral Lipstick because I picked it up in Washington State, in the dead of winter, when I was there for a memorial service.

Lipstick, because I tend to use a ton of lip balm and I found, quit giggling like children, that there is very little difference between lip balm of one sort or another and real lipstick. More than one time, I’ve looked at a girlfriend and asked to borrow her lipstick, meaning implied, lip balm.

“Don’t make this a thing, just let me borrow some chapstick.”

Part of this stems from so much time in the desert, especially the desert SouthWest, Arizona, New Mexico, West Texas. More recently, in the last dozen years, the lip balm became even more important, commuting from Austin or San Antonio — where it is humid — to El Paso, Southern New Mexico — where it is not humid. At all.

Get chapped lips once, and I never forgot to pack that stuff again.

Or coastal fishing, I tend towards Life Guard stuff. Same thing.

Funeral Lipstick

When I was on the peninsula, WA, I picked up a local outfit’s brand of lip balm, Sequim Beeswax. Have to admit, tastes good, all-natural, I suspect, and free-range. Probably ergonomic, too. So that became my “Funeral Lipstick.”

Unless you’ve been there, probably no one knows about the town called “Sequim.”

Image was captured in San Antonio, so it fits: Sequim Beeswax.

Good stuff.

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#ekphrasis