It finally happened—I leveled up at Sephora. Admittedly, I was more excited about this when it happened than I thought I would be from what I wrote previously. I don’t know why—maybe this is the thrill my video game playing friends describe when something happens in one of their games that makes absolutely no sense to me, but I’m happy for their enthusiasm just the same? I wish I could say that it didn’t come with the purchase of yet another lipstick… and maybe matching liner.  What I can say is my app knows me well enough to let me know when there is a flash, online exclusive sale of a Kat Von D lip color package, complete with samples of her fragrances: Saint and Sinner.

I also had a bonus available with my purchase that I could pick a bigger sample of one of the fragrances.  Having never smelled either, I went with Saint. It was so pretty, and innocent looking in its white design.  And then the order arrived.  I swiped on the lip color—a rich purply shade that I instantly loved on as much as I did on paper—and immediately headed for my afternoon meetings.

As a kid, I was raised in a Catholic household. There were many things I liked about the church—mostly the pomp and circumstance, not least of which was the gaudy décor. Easter was often the best, when the church was lavished in purple and gold.  I spent most of my time in church admiring the décor and looking at peoples’ shoes while kneeling, making up stories about the soles of their shoes and where they had been. I never understood the random kneeling, standing sitting… I wondered why it wasn’t more efficient with all the kneeling first, then the standing, then the sitting. Maybe it was to keep dad from sleeping too much?

Looking back, I was an early agnostic—even if I didn’t know the word for it at the time.  I declined to go through confirmation and only went to church with my grandma because she would sit in the second row and curse out the priest louder than she realized.  She would then scurry us out immediately after communion to go get coffee, eat donuts, and so she could smoke—the latter probably being the biggest factor in our cutting out 20 minutes early.  I didn’t mind—nothing amused me more than my grandma calling the priest a lying mother fucker.

It was my grandmother I was reminded of as I finished my workday and noticed that the name given this particular purple lip color was Sinner.  She was one of the only women I knew growing up that wore lipstick—but I only recall her wearing it to church.  Thinking about it now, most of the women I saw in church wore lipstick. Especially funny as I recall a religion lesson once espousing the that it was women of ill repute who donned lipstick.  I never made the connection as a kid, but as an adult standing in front of my tray of lipsticks in almost every imaginable color the memory made me smile.

I pulled out the fragrance samples. Somehow, I wasn’t all that surprised that of the two fragrances Sinner was the one I liked the most.  I now stood in my bathroom laughing aloud; in my hand, I literally held three Sinners and two Saints:  full house. Winner take all.