I was in Boots the other day, looking for a simple mascara – as an aside, why doesn’t anyone do a good basic mascara any more? It’s all lengthen-this, and curl-that, or volumise-the-other. I have naturally long, curling lashes, I don’t need anything that fancy or I look like a panda! – and had to ask a lovely assistant what she recommended.

As she was putting my purchase through, she looked at me with slightly narrowed eyes and said “would you like a make-over?”

Now, I have had a Boots make-over before, and it was nice (if a little odd) to be pampered for 15 minutes and to look all polished for once. They didn’t do much that I didn’t already do, just picked a better foundation match, and reassured me that I knew what I was doing when it came to eye make-up. So I said yes to the overly eager assistant, and got one booked in for March. (So on the 9th of March expect my #365 to be me all made up and looking grown-up for once).

Then I left the store and started to worry about why she offered it to me in the first place… Sure, I wasn’t all heavily made up – it was only Sunday shopping for pete’s sake! – but I was wearing some eye shadow and eyeliner, more or less what I wear any time I leave the house actually. And here was this professional offering me a make-over. Was she implying I was in desperate need of help? That I looked like I’d fallen out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down? That my pathetic attempt at make-up made me look like a low-rent clown?

I am choosing to think that she thought I was a good customer, clearly liked and wore their product well, and would appreciate being shown some of their new line.

That’s what I am thinking. Yep. She was being nice. That’s it.