I had an appointment late in the day with a local makeup artist with whom I’ve become friends. But when I arrived, he was on his way out, sick as a dog. The woman who took over for him was friendly enough and didn’t try to sell me on any skin care products, thank god. And since she already felt like second choice, I let her have at my face with whatever palette she saw fit.
She did a good and different job – good in that her technique and ideas were very good; she had a good sense for color; different for me in that it really looked like I was wearing makeup. It’s not easy using greens.
When I met Ben at daycare, he stared at me, trying to figure out what this stuff was on my face. I sat with him at the snack table; he munched and stared. We got his coat and backpack, and he stared. He did the usual announcement of “My mom’s here” on our way out, and then we got to the car. As I buckled him into the carseat, he began touching my eyelids. I told him that Mommy was wearing makeup. He kept staring. I asked if he liked it, and he said, clearly, “No.” When I asked if he would like mommy to take it off he said “Yes” but that he wanted to go to the grocery store first and get some chocolate.