I’m not much of a makeup kind of girl. I used to wear a bit when I worked outside the home, before the kids, but I was never one to get completely made up. Since then, and in the midst of our many moves over the years, I had even managed to lose the bag containing my assortment of sorely outdated glosses and shadows. I didn’t even have a bottle of nail polish to my name. Replacing it all seemed like a task too daunting, however, especially when faced with the plethora of product in that department.
The other day, though, I mustered up the gumption to change all that. I admit, I’ve been feeling a bit down, so I thought it might be a tiny foot in the positive direction. In true form, I bravely treked down the aisle and picked the most boring, neutral shades available. But it was something, at least.
When I returned home, I poured my new purchases on the bathroom counter and began to rack my brain to remember how it was all supposed to be applied. All those years of reading Seventeen had to be good for something. The entire time, Abby was at my side, watching with both confusion and awe.
I leaned close to the mirror and smeared a bit of eyeliner on my upper lid. “This isn’t so bad”, I said to no one in particular. “Why did I stop messing with this stuff again?”
That’s when I looked down to find Abby had confiscated the eyeshadow. With brush in hand, she swiped a streak of sparkling brown across her forehead, then another down her cheek. “Pretty?”, she smiled.
Ah yes, that’s why.