To each her own gift

OK, so I accept that each of us has skills that another might not. For instance, I would advise you not to even think about challenging my ability to separate M&Ms into color groups before eating them. And forget about competing with my unparalleled genius for putting my socks on one at a time without falling over.
They're gifts. Both of them. There's no use envying me. Everybody has their own gifts, and these are mine.
What I'm bummed about is that other women got the makeup gift. If you look around, you're sure to notice that, in most cases, the makeup gift went to the same crowd that got the beauty gift. What kind of sense does that make?
It'd be like giving me socks with instructions or a gift certificate for M&Ms packaged by color. A little "spreading it around" is in order, wouldn't you say?
It's not that I think I should have been given the whole makeup gift.
I'm willing to live with the emergency room visits whenever my hand slips and I ram the mascara wand into my eyeball.
And, looking like I was slapped around isn't so bad. Blush is meant to add color, isn't it?
What's got my Q-tips in a knot is foundation. What, pray tell, is the secret to buying the right shade? 
Over the course of 35 years, I've gradually worked my way down from the deep tan I really wanted -- until I realized the idea was to MATCH my skin tone and cover up the odd pimple or dark patch.
It makes sense, but that doesn't make it easy.

My skin tone is white white, but nobody sells that or the shade my husband keeps suggesting, prison pallor. Ivory? There's plenty of it, but it isn't quite right.
I thought a change of scenery might help. So, I went outside. As everyone knows, the best possible place to put makeup on is in your car's rear-view mirror on a sunny day. Kind of a combo indoor/outdoor lighting effect that serves you from morning through evening. It's a wonder Maybelline or Hyundai haven't caught on yet.
So, anyway, I was out in the car the other day, shortly before noon, and thought I would nail it for sure. My makeup would be sensational for lunch at the Ramada.
I carefully shook the bottle, opened it and wiped my finger across the top. But as I dragged my finger across my cheek (at an upward angle, of course), I was stunned ... it was three shades darker than my skin.
I looked at the bottle, squinting as I held the label to my eyeball. 
Bare Nude.
Bare nude??
How much lighter a shade can there be than Bare Nude?
I don't get it.
Unless, of course ... it's Transparent Invisible.
That might just be the shade for me.
But what do I know? ... I got the M&M sorting gift.