Saturday, October 10, 2009
What Does Make-up, Make Up?
I think it's always important to be honest. So, true to my word, I should tell you at the outset, there will be nothing of particular significance shared in this post. Basically I'm just trying to kill some time until the sun comes up so I can head out on a long, glorious Saturday morning run!
Yesterday afternoon, my daughter and I went to the mall, for no reason other than to just hold hands (can you believe my 11 year-old STILL holds hands with me?) and look at “stuff." (Yeah, like Buffy, that’s so awesome…oh my GAWD.) After the obligatory stop at Abercrombie (I can still smell the store this morning) and Delia's we stopped by a make-up and skincare store.
I am 49 (not even close to old) but am starting to show some signs of aging on my face. (Like this is a bad thing?) Years of training in the outdoors will do that to a woman's skin. I’m not concerned about it one bit…but thought, for the fun of it and because Helen and I were enjoying each others company, I would ask this wonderful teenager,who worked, in the store for her assistance. (Alright she probably wasn't a teenager, but I felt like I was old as I asked for her help. Funny, I didn't feel old before I entered the store. What's that about?)
So anyway, this very young and very confident make-up/skincare consultant is going to consult with me and teach me how to apply certain products on my face. I sit on a stool. Helen is on my left, said skincare/make up consultant is slightly to my right. "These products will eliminate some of those obvious signs of aging and sun damage.” (May I interject a quick comment here. I think my teenage friend was trying to make me feel good, but this statement somehow didn't help.) She applies something first…that has a very important medical name. I am afraid of it, but she applies it anyway. She applies the product in what I would call "military fashion." My head is pushed back several inches with each application. My daughter Helen thinks this is hilarious and begins what eventually turns into a running commentary of the entire event. "Mom...gosh...PLEASE stop making those faces!"
Layer number one, completed, my personal make-up/skincare consultant now applies something else with a brush. We have several "something elses" to go. By the end of this consult, I feel as if I have several inches of “something else” other than me, on my face.
Furthermore, she applied the something else’s so close to my eyes they are now hot red and beginning to tear up.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yes,” I said stoically, trying to be sure that the make-up warrior in me didn’t reveal the fact that my eyes felt like they were going to permanently rebel against the mysterious-named-store toxic poison and close forever.
Meanwhile, Helen, my eleven year old is telling me in my left ear (loudly by the way) in a kind of sing-song voice and in no uncertain terms, "Doesn't look any different." My make-up consultant continues to apply another layer of something else and Helen is persistently telling me throughout the latter stages of my makeover, "Doesn't look any different, Mom. Doesn't look ANY different."
When the consultant is done, I feel as if my face will crack if I smile, wink or speak. I am blinded at this point by that darn third layer and weave my way dangerously toward the check-out counter. I opted not to purchase the "something elses package" and ended up purchasing some fruity lip gloss for Helen and blush for me.
On to the food court.
I washed my face three times last night before bed…and still this morning woke up to eyes that are beet red.
I think I’ll just love my face the way it is and save the money for my children's college tuition.