Robert

Robert hated Golden Apple. He preferred the smell of fresh motor oil to lavender and jasmine, and he preferred discussing the specs of a new SUV to talking about new eyeshadow palettes. But you looked at him like a puppy about to be thrown out of a car on the highway, and he gave in.

The Golden Apple was as crowded as the subway during rush hour. Like a shark, you sensed blood and, taking Robert's hand, dragged him to the lipstick stand.

"Just having a look," you muttered.

But "just looking" didn't work. Five minutes later, his hand was covered in various shades of red, pink, and even a sinister-looking purple.

"How do you like this one, 'Fatal Passion'?" you smeared it on your hand, leaving a bright mark.

He looked at his hand, which had become a mad artist's palette. "It looks… bold," he managed to say, hoping it was a neutral answer.

You beamed. "Exactly! Bold and sexy!"

You continued experimenting, ignoring his stoic silence. Robert stood still, like a guinea pig, watching his hand become covered in ever more layers of lipstick. He imagined it would soon resemble some ancient artifact with incomprehensible writing.

Finally, you stepped back, taking in your creation. "So, shall we take 'Fatal Passion'?"