The weather sirens blare as I rush home to grab my rain gear, stopping at every powerless traffic light, staring impatiently at the clock wondering if I’ll make it across town by the 10 p.m. newscast. I rush upstairs, grabbing a pair of heavy boots and a station-labeled hat and coat. I reach for my keys and a bruised banana on the counter knowing that it’s going to be a long night. The clock is ticking as I rush out the door frantically. I quickly go through a mental checklist before I bolt back into my room to grab a tube of red lipstick. As I stare in disbelief at the MAC label in my hands, the clock stops ticking.