Caught in the Act

Just like in a movie. I was obviously the last one to know. The unsuspecting victim who should have seen it coming, but instead chose denial. I should have paid more attention. I have only myself to blame. It was right there in his eyes and I chose not to see it. To make matters worse, it was happening right under my nose. In my own home. Whoever said what we don’t know can’t hurt us has obviously never been in my shoes. What we don’t know can sometimes be our worst nightmare.


The house was unusually still and suddenly I could feel the icy chill run down my spine. Something was wrong. My gut knotted as I walked toward the door. I thought I might be sick but managed to keep my composure. I knew it was happening right on the other side. Just the thought was almost paralytic. I didn’t know what to do. I could keep the door closed and continue to live in my semi-polished Swarovksi-esque bubble of a world, or open it up and shatter my world, smash my dreams and have my trust broken beyond repair. My body tensed with fear and I thought my knees might give out. I knew things like this happened, but I never thought it would happen to me. I never thought I would be a statistic. I decided it was time for action. Time to rip the band-aid off the wound and just get it over with. Yes it would hurt and yes, perhaps I may not see an immediate reason to go on, but I knew I would survive, that I’d learn how to stay alive. I took a deep yogic breath, reached for the handle and opened the door quietly. If I was going to catch him, I wanted to see everything. I wanted to catch him in action.

And there he was, Manuel, just as I suspected. He looked me right in the eye and with no disregard for my feelings told me he ran his fingers around his eyes, applying my MAC MoistureLush Eye Cream. Of course I had seen the signs, the odd finger smudges in the cream early in the morning, coming home to find the container left slightly out of place. But suddenly it was all real. Manuel, fingers gouging out heaps and heaps of cream, smearing it with abandon all about the eyes. And he didn’t even bother to do it in a different bathroom. He defiled my personal morning pull-myself-together space as if it were nothing more than a cold slab of granite.

Me: What the HELL is going on in here?
Manuel: This is really good eye cream
Me: I know. It’s mine! Why are you using it?
Manuel: I ran out of mine and this is really good.
Me: I know. But M-I-N-E. I'm 41, you're 29. You don’t need it. Why?
Manuel: (slapping another layer on his eyes) I do so my eyes don’t get like yours.

But this wasn’t the first time he had strayed. Just a few weeks back I caught him red handed with my Lakme Pure Defense Anti-Pollution Detoxifying Facial Wash. He told me it meant nothing and that I was blowing everything out of proportion. I took him at his word, fool that I am. And what am I supposed to do now? How can I trust him when I see how he looks at my MAC Microfine Refinisher?