The other day, I got a birthday package from my mother-in-law. Ariel (oops), my teenage daughter, known hereafter as TD, coveted the Godiva chocolate that I got. (Hurray, my mother-in-law shops the Godiva after-Christmas sales.) After I shared my chocolate with TD, who does agree that chocolate is a food group/medication, TD oood and ahhhed over my new makeup—my mother-in-law is an Avon lady. I pointed out the very hip colors. TD commented on which ones she liked. And that was the end of the conversation. I went back to folding laundry, and she went back to Diff-Eqs (short for differential equations).
Later that evening, I was getting ready for Bible study, and she saw me doing my hair.
TD said: “Hey, would you like me to do your make-up for you?”
Me, mildly suspicious since I’ve allowed her to do this to me before: “Uh, well...”
TD: “Seriously, I won’t do anything too weird.”
Me, thinking—That’s what you said the last time and I had to wash my face: “Uh...”
TD: “Come on.”
Me, thinking—mother/daughter bonding time: “Sure, why not?”
TD, after applying thick goop to my lips: “This lipstick isn’t really dark brown.”
Me, jerking back to reality: “Huh? What did you say?”
TD: “This lipstick isn’t too brown. It looks sort of natural.”
TD (shielding eye shadow colors from my view): “Close your eyes.”
Me: “Right.” Then I sink into oblivion, meditating on the newest short story I’m working on.
A period of time passes.
TD: “Hmmm. I don’t think you’ll like this.”
Me: “Let me see.”
TD: “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
I stand up and look into the mirror. My face blanched. “Oh, my goodness.”
TD: “It’s trendy.”
Me: “I look like the loser in a bar fight.”
TD: “I can fix it.”
Me: “With soap.”
TD: “No. Just relax.”
Ten minutes later.
TD: “Ta Da!”
Me, trying not to bite my lip because it’s covered in goo, “That’s better, I guess.”
TD: “I put purple over the blue and then dusted white sparkles over that.”
Me: “I have on three layers of eye shadow!?!”
TD: “It’s really cute, Mom.”
Me: “I can’t wear this to Bible study.”
Me, looking at the clock. “Ahh, I’m late for Bible study! I hope no visitors show up and see me looking like this.”
TD, smiling broadly: “Tell them it’s my fault.”
Okay, dear readers, just so you know—it’s her fault!