Making Up

No, it is not a sappy blog about relationships.  It is about cosmetics, sort of.  Please read on, men.  You might learn something.  Women friends, you know the words ring true.  I just have a blog to hide behind.

While looking in the mirror at six thirty in the a.m., I am always disappointed to see the face that is looking back.  Somehow I expect to see the one that matches my eighteen year old brain.  It isn't.

The eyes have  little black smudges from the mascara I was too lazy to remove, or maybe they are dark circles from a restless sleep.  There is a morning puffiness beneath.  The lines I see are not deep crevasses yet, but I see them anyway.  My skin is relatively smooth--until one looks at my chin(s), or the neck.  We won't discuss the neck.  Hence, the half-face photo on Facebook.

Slathering on my favorite glycerin soap in the shower, checking for rogue hairs on the lip and plucking strays from my eyebrows, I heave a sigh.  Moisturizers, toners, eye cream are part of the routine.  I say a silent prayer for Avon and Olay.  Vanity at its finest.  They tell me Preparation H is useful for a temporary face-lift.  Have you ever smelled that stuff? Shark oil!  Too gross to even consider.

I have always longed to be so beautiful that heads would turn when I pass by.  Alas, I settle for OK.  A drop-dead gorgeous figure would help.  Mine is more like drop-a-few-pounds.  At least a voice like Lauren Bacall...cripes.  Ain't me, babe.

Make-up helps.  A dab of concealer, a hint of blush, a ton of goo on my lashes--I am acceptable to go out for the day.  Not eighteen, not even close.  Chemistry and marketing have turned my aging self into someone I can live with, keeping the illusion of youth within reach.

Yes, vanity is one of my sins.  I save the sweats for the Y.  I don't leave the house without my make-up intact.  The earrings are often outlandish, as are the nails Sue repairs and Grace paints.  Yes, I am occasionally an attention hound.

All the make-up, all the earrings, not even the fanciest watches (another weakness I will admit to) will change one's true self.  These are only things.  They do not make me more lovable or compassionate.  They do not make me smile more or argue less.  They are not me.  I am learning to be content, not with outer beauty but with the people skills with which I am blessed.

I can fight the aging process, but I can't stop it.  After all, you either get older--or you don't.