Over priced, underwhelmed

I had the privilege of being invited along to a cosmetics do the other day which is basically a group of women who meet in someone's house and then a sort of Avon representative turns up with a bag of goodies and samples. I turned up all hot and sweaty looking rather flushed after a half an hour tramp through the Abruzzan countryside to reach the farm where the event was being held. The table was already laden with 4 different types of home-made cakes and pastries which I immediately set about feasting on - this of course for me being the highlight of the event. 'Have another piece' they insisted 'OK', I agreed without too much persuasion, wolfing down another cake. Wiping the cream from round my mouth, the cosmetics woman entered. I immediately noticed she had bad skin. 'Hmm' I thought, a bit like a bald man trying to sell hair growth formulas or a chiropodist with in-growing toenails. She bustled about, displaying her wares on the table, exotically named jars of brightly coloured liquids, tubes of regeneration, anti-wrinkle and gravity-defying lotions and a range of almost fluorescent cosmetics that wouldn't have looked out of place in a clown's dressing room. I wasn't impressed. She prepared her creams and pounced on the first victim. 'This is the skin purifier' she announced, vigorously rubbing some granular green concoction into this pensioner's face, pulling her skin left, right and centre. Now go and wash it off, she ordered, pushing the poor woman into the bathroom and slamming the door. 'This is a skin tonic', she announced, as a red liquid oozed between her fingers. She slapped it on her next victim, a portly woman, whose face was already red with the exertion of eating the cakes. 'There now, how does that feel?' she enquired without waiting for an answer. The victim nodded approvingly, clearly too nervous to say 'I don't feel any different'. She then grabbed a very plain, mousy coloured haired girl and began to apply various types of make-up, easily eclipsing Picasso in terms of boldness and brush strokes. The girl sat grinning, clearly enjoying the attention. Clearly she hadn't looked in the mirror yet. The rest of us (apart from me) ummmed and ahhhhed in approval, amazed at the transformation before us - from one extreme to the other. Now you! she pointed at me, seizing a jar of ominously orange paste. This is to make you look suntanned. I frowned, already lightly tanned from a few days working in the garden. I started to protest but she was already at work and I could see the end of my nose turning a ruddy brown colour. Did I really want to look like Victoria Beckam - greasy and orange? She stepped back for all to admire her work. We looked at each other, the heavily made up girl, the porky (by now) very red woman, me looking like a farmer's wife and the pensioner, now returned from the bathroom with bloodshot eyes and a nasty rash breaking through on her chin. We looked like characters from the Twighlight Zone, either that or Billy Smart's circus. As we dabbed away at our war paint, quick as a flash, she produced her order book. Elena, she barked, what will you have..... and so it went on, all the participants pressurised into forking out a fortune on rubbish products at highly inflated prices but clearly too embarrassed to say 'no thanks'.... until it came to me. 'And you, Julia?' she beamed falsely. Wiping the last of the grime from my face, I replied casually 'No thanks'. She stuck out her bottom lip... 'Don't you like the products?' she insisted. 'They're interesting....' I chose my words carefully, 'but I already have my own range (Superdrug specials - 2 for 1 offers) and they work just fine for me'. At that point, someone piped up 'Yes, in fact, Julia DOES have really good skin. What product do you use?'. I thought it best not to detract too much from the seller's own range so gave a vague answer and then checked my watch in an exaggerated fashion. 'Ooooh, got to dash now but this has been just GREAT!' and reaching for another slice of cake which I promptly stuffed into my mouth, waved enthusiasatically and headed for the door. I caught sight of 'Mrs Avon' scowling at me, probably worried I was going to go into competition with her by selling realistically priced products instead. Hmmm, wonder if they do tupperware parties round here...?