Dear Christian,
I hate you. My eyelashes hate you. You have stolen something from my reddened eye sockets; three layers of skin, they want them BACK! I am writing you this to let you know I will be discontinuing the purchase and use of your $36 "Dior Blackout Waterproof Mascara". When you think of waterproof, what comes to mind? When would you want to use such a product? When there is water/ and or liquid flying around your face and you would not be interested in resembling the girls that work at the Mac counter or a raccoon. Maybe if you plan on squirting a few tears: wedding, funeral, watching the notebook...etc. But regardless you either have the choice of spending $72 on two Dior mascaras one which does not prohibit emo black streams down your face and the other mascara that is just WAITING to fuck up your face or the choice to make a life changing decision to purchase only one. I think they should change the name of the second one to "Dior Blackout DARE". Dare you to fucking sneeze, Dare you to move your eyeballs or blink cause as soon as you do it seems as if your eyelids have slipped and fell into the ocean and now its a race across the English Channel to your chin. Or you could just buy one right? Cause you'll never know when PMS will kick in and its Niagara falls and Blackout all over your face. For some GOD AWFUL reason I decided to purchase the waterproof mascara. Was I raised by wolves? Was I beaten as a child? What mishap early on in life could have contributed to me making such a horrible, horrible decision. I don't know wtf happened but all I know is as I unsuspectingly applied its blackness to my eyelashes it was seeping in to my soul. I first noticed its devilry as I blinked when I was putting it on and it went under my eyes a little, no biggie right? Thinking I'd come back later and fix that shit after it was dry. So I continued driving and when I parked to go to my appointment I went to wipe it off. Nothing. Oh Okay, I'll grab a paper towel and put water on it and then wipe it off. Nothing. I rub harder. Nothing. What? A little harder, a new paper towel this time. Ow. Ow. Oww. What the...WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF FUCKERY IS THIS!!!!!! I fell on my knees waving my fist to the air, cursing Christian's name to the Gods. In writhing pain I drove home because despite my agonizing ten minute fight with the mascara on the battleground of my poor peepers, it only made the mess under my eyes worse and needless to say I looked a red-eyed hot pile of tranny mess and could not make my appointment. When I arrived back home, despite my best efforts and 6 pads of makeup removers, lotion, and a little elbow grease ( not to sure where it comes from or what it is), I couldn't get it off!!! Lost many eyelashes in my scuffle... brings a tear to my eyes even talking about it now. Shittttttt here we go. Anyways next time you try to sell a product such as this CHRISTIAN, how about offering a disclaimer: NOTE FROM SURGEON GENERAL: DO NOT BUY. Or maybe offer a coupon for $10 off a sandblaster to help remove excess mascara. bitch.
