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Now, I like to think that I don't have ANY nemeses: I mean, asparagus? Sure, we don't like each other, but we'll still be all friendly and smile at one another when we occasionally bump (forks?!) into each other. Frizz? Okay, so there's a teensy bit of anguish there, but since embracing the (old) magnificence that is hairspray, we've slowly been trying to make amends. But pores? Excuse me while I take a stroll down Terrible Pun Street, but poor pore, pore me, they're a nightmare!

Yes, pores. Those unfriendly little small openings in your skin where oil and sweat love to fester, often ruining a perfectly made-up face. They're the facial equivalent of a drunken, surly gatecrasher at an otherwise excellent soiree` that you're attending, aggressively pushing through your foundation and scaring away your poor, trembling bronzer. And despite my many advances towards other products, my hopeful looks and ‘'so, uh, do you come here often?'' openers have all been unsuccessful. Blotting papers? Forget about it! We've engaged in a brief affair, but it quickly ended when my repeated requests to not take half my make-up off with them each time we came into contact fell on deaf ears. Plus, it was just getting kind of awkward: I never remembered to take them out of my bathroom drawer, and they accused me of stifling them. Oops.

And then there were those weird pore strip things. Well! It was fun to slap a product that resembled a band-aid over the bridge of my nose the first time, but by the fourth application I couldn't help but observe that a real reduction in my pores' appearance would have been much more entertaining.

‘'Oh, I give UP!'' I cried exasperatedly the other morning. ‘'Can't we just call a truce, pores?!'' They began to laugh wickedly and I could feel myself slumping, recognising defeat. And then I spied something else; something else entirely different!

‘'Hi,'' it said, grinning charismatically as it made its way over. ‘'My name's Benefit's The Pore-fessional. Apply me in the morning underneath your make-up and touch me up during the day for a smooth, refined, and practically poreless complexion. PRESTO! No more pores!''

‘'Oh, pft,'' I guffawed. ‘'Poreless?! No more pores? Please! I've heard that before!''

It shrugged smugly, confident in its aqua-blue suit. ‘'Fine, fine. Be as dismissive as you like. But I hear those membership fees to the ‘I Hate Pores' club are getting p-retty pricey!''

For the second time that day, I slumped defeatedly. It was right. I immediately grabbed Pore-fessional and began applying it frantically, almost hoping that I could utter ‘'it's not working!'' in a similarly ridiculous sing-song voice: I hate to lose an argument with a cosmetic, darn it! But as the day rolled on, it was becoming increasingly obvious that I was going to - I hadn't heard a single ''oh, yoohoo!'' peep out of my pores and amazingly, I wasn't blindingly shiny by noon! PORE-fect. It's early days, so I don't want to get too cocky and all ''in your FACE, pores!'' just yet, but so far? I'm smitten! Think primer-like, but harder working. Pore-fessional indeed!

♥

Have you ever suffered at the hands cheeks of a pore bully? What do you recommend? (Or is your beauty related ailment a completely different foe altogether?!)

xoxo

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