Welcome to the train beauty shop

By | Category: Travel rumblings
image of cosmetics

an array of everyday cosmetics?

I am getting annoyed with some of the female travellers that join the trains on which I travel. Admittedly I catch a lot of early morning trains, the sort of trains that people fall out of bed for just a short time before they have to board it. I suspect this is is why I am getting crotchety.

I don’t really want to sit next to someone or sit nearby someone putting on their makeup. I don’t want to have to chase over the floor for tubes of lipstick or mascara on their behalf because they have so much on their laps that they cannot do it for themselves.  I don’t want to have share the little tablespace that there is with a large handbag that seemingly contains dozens of tubes, jars, bottles and who knows what else that the travelling lady seems to need to put on her face especially as they have a habit of rolling around as the train jerks and rolls as it follows the track.

I don’t really want to have to put up with the pungent smell that some products have. I have never been fond of perfume smells at the best of time but in confined spaces and, at an hour that some would consider ungodly, it is all a bit much. Must these products all have aromas that suggests that the person concerned is a walking advert for the perfume display counter at the duty free? And why on earth must nails be filed on the train? Should I retaliate and cut my toe nails?

But my limits of endurance were reached today. A lady with wet hair sat opposite me and promptly spread some sort of gel on it before combing it in. Not only did I have the smell of wet hair but the sweet, sickly smell of the gel. This exercise lasted through two more stations on the line! Next time, a traveller might bring a hairdyer and plug the thing in to complete the job!

I took six different trains today spread over eight hours. On three of them I had beauty paraphernalia spread around.

If men don’t need to shave on the train in the morning and can arrive at the platforms looking as though they have had enough time to make themselves presentable, can’t women? Don’t they realise that the train is not a compartment of their beauty cabinet? Can’t they get up an extra fifteen minutes earlier or however long it takes to prepare themselves before they meet fellow humans in the morning?

Alternatively, if readers any suggestions of how to make ladies intent on occupying most if not of all of their journeys playing with over-perfumed gloop and brushes, tweezers and other strange implements to sit somewhere else other than with an old curmudgeon like me who might, one day, not be as polite as he would generally wish to be, I’d be grateful.

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