You and John were getting ready to go out with the others, as everyone got a few days off. You were at the dressing table checking your figure one more time as John was in the bathroom, trying to button his shirt, but his hands weren't helping him too much, neither his rough fingers, as he gave up and turned to go ask you help him, by mistake, he knocked over your favorite make-up palette, scattering it on the floor, the sound making you turn and got check him, before you could realize what happened, he, crouched down and collecting the dust spread from your palette, looked up at you with a guilty face, muttering "Are you mad at me?"