If there is one thing I cannot get enough of, it is beauty products.
Thanks to a stint of a few years' work as a beauty writer, I have an unrivalled collection of lotions and potions — and they make me happier than any other material object ever could (except diamonds).
I know that sounds excruciatingly girly. But having said that, they do seem to be a talking point whenever I have guests over — irrespective of whether they are men or women.
Beauty products are a source of wonder for many of us. Perhaps it's the lure of their promises of eternal youth and cellulite-free thighs or just the sheer amazement that someone would actually go ahead and spend Dh300 on an eye cream.
Recently, I had to put all my belongings in storage for a month, surviving only on the basics (you know, cleanser, toner, exfoliator, moisturiser, eye cream, night cream, serum, shampoo, conditioner, hair detoxifier, etc) — and it was agony.
I pined for my cellulite creams and I dreamt of the day I would be reunited with my solid perfumes and once again be able to experiment with my hydrating sprays.
It would not be exaggeration if I were to say I was in the depths of despair at having only one choice of moisturiser.
When I got the cosmetics back (in three huge brown boxes), I was deliriously happy.
And as the removal men shunted them into the lift, I reminded them (in a slightly manic tone of voice) that these were the most important boxes of all.
I'm not really sure about what it is that makes a pot of cream so exciting but there is nothing that gets my heart rate up like a lovely, big, expensive pot of goop.
I don't even care much about what it's supposed to do.
I don't know how this dependence on beauty creams crept up on me — I used to be content with a supermarket-brand shower gel and a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.
The very thought makes me shudder now. In fact, I am ashamed to admit it. But yes, I am a full-fledged beauty snob.
It does me no good at all, though.
Every time I have a facial, I get told off for “confusing'' my skin with too many products.
Apparently, all my skin problems boil down to my skincare infidelity.
I am not true to one brand and, according to skin specialists, my skin is now punishing me for my cheating ways with spots and oversized pores.
There's little that depresses me more than reading those beauty cream exposés that claim my beloved bottles do little for me other than drain my already-depleted finances.
It is like when David Beckham (allegedly) cheated on Posh.
It's as though everything you believed was good and true about the world has suddenly come crashing down and along with it, any hope that I can get rid of the cellulite on my thighs without putting in any hard graft or curing my crow's feet without surgery.
But like most obsessions, I can't give up expensive creams — and neither do I want to.
I don't care what the experts say; this is meaningful, lasting love.
