a ~ To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet

I haven’t worn makeup since 1999. My wedding day. A friend showed me what to buy and how to put it on. Before then – probably high school. I’m not of the demographic that makeup and perfume companies market to.

I don’t envy teenagers much. There’s too much ahead they’re not going to like. Though I suppose that’s true of just about any age. Still, you couldn’t pay me enough to go through high school again, and my experience wasn’t all that bad. College was fun, mostly, but I’ll take the comfort of a husband and 2.7 kids and the white picket fence (or white electric fence in our case) over the intimidating dining hall and echoing dorms any day. Even my boys, who are right now rolling on the golden grass like sweet-smelling puppies, yelling for me to “Watch my tricky roar!” – I’d rather be here on the porch in the rocking chair, typing away, feet propped almost comfortably on the picnic table bench.

Except:¬†pliability. The way their bodies spring back from whatever shape they bend themselves into. The way their skin stretches, releases, creases, and ends the day as smooth as a drape of velvet. Ah, youth. Why I wore makeup when my face needed it the least, I have no idea. Except maybe it wasn’t my face that needed the coverup, the powder, the…. that’s all I can name. Wait… eyeshadow! Maybe that makeup was the spackle over the gaping holes in my self confidence. Or maybe that’s just what everyone else did, so I did it too.

The lotion I use on my face is made of clay from the mouth of the Amazon river. It costs more than a bottle of decent wine. I’m probably endangering something by using it, but it’s my only girlish luxury, and I buy it once every six months. And you know what? It doesn’t make my face any smoother, it doesn’t erase my wrinkles or my spots. Look at my face – you can’t tell I use anything. But it makes me feel better, like I’m being proactive on the aging front. Like I’ve joined a long line of slowly bending women who are accepting the marks of time with mostly grace and a dash of rebellion. The company is nice. But I still wish I could do a handspring without fear of injury.

About andi

Writer, editor, wrangler of small boys and dogs.

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