I don’t wear a lot of makeup. Most days, I don’t bother. This doesn’t mean I’m disdainful of the stuff, in case you care—it just means I’m too lazy to gild the thistle each and every morning.*
But once every few years, just before a special occasion, I’ll drag down my small case—which has lived on the highest shelf of the linen closet since the Janie Discovers Foundation Incident of ’09—take a guilty look at the fossilized sadness in those elegant little containers, toss it all out, and make an emergency trip to the Mall, where an optimistic young thing will sell me the works, not knowing that she will never see me again in this lifetime, no matter how many handwritten thank you notes or special customer postcards she drops in the mail.
I will use it all once. Perhaps twice. And the cycle starts again.
My one exception to this is nail polish—I get my nails done, in a real salon, every two weeks. There are actual reasons for this. One, my nails are brittle and tend to split and crack along the sides unless they’re armored in several layers of polish. Two, I make a lot of photocopies every day, and my hands are in everything. Might as well make ’em look purty.
Three—I love OPI. Great colors, weird names. “I’m Not Really a Waitress” Red? “I Vant to be a-Lone Star” silver? “House of Blues”? Gimme.
Aaaaand they’ve come out with a set for the new Muppet Movie. This week, I’m sporting “Warm ‘n Fozzy” on my fingers and “Rainbow Connection” on my toes. I would have gone with “Meep Meep Meep,” or “Fresh Frog of Bel Air,” but the octogenarian next to me snagged ’em.
oooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooo
In which I am outnumbered, in a car, in the rain:
“Why do you have wiper-thingies, Mom?”
“Windshield wipers? So I can see to drive.”
“Why don’t we have them back here?”
“Because you don’t have to see—only the driver has to see. See?”
“I can’t see, Mommy! I want to see.”
“Use your mitten to wipe the window.”
“It’s not the steam, Mom, it’s on the outside.”
“The raindrops?”
“Yeah. And the dirt.”
“Mom-my’s car is dir-ty. We should wash it. With lotsa car soap.”
“Can we, Mom?”
“It’s too cold . . . Maybe the rain will help.”
Doubtful silence.
“Okay, maybe we could run it through the car wash.”
“Now?”
“Not right now. This weekend.”
Much more squealing than I expected.
“They gots popcorn!”
“And little jewel things under a plastic microscope.”
“And popcorn, Mommy!”
“And stuffed animals.”
“At the carwash?”
“Yeah, they have a gift shop.”
“And popcorn.”
“At the carwash?”
“Sure. It’s fun. Can we go with you, Mom? Please?”
“Pretty Please, Mommy?”
“Pleeeeeeeese with sugar on top and a cherry and, um, Reddi-Whip?”
“Pleeeeese, Mommy? With spinkles?”
“She means sprinkles. Please, Mom?”
“I’m not going to say yes, just to get you to stop.”**
“Please with cheese on top? Pleasie with cheesie?”
“Don’t say that like that, Janie.”
“Why not?”
“It sounds icky.”
“It does not!”
“Pleases can have cheeses, Sunny. Great, now you have me doing it.”
Much giggling.
“Well? Can we, Mom? Or should we keep asking?”
“No! I mean, Yes! But no more pleases. Please.”
The sound of a high-five in the back seat.
“We’re going!”
“Owie!”
“Sorry, Sunny.”
“’Sokay. Mommy? Can we have popcorn for a snack?”
“I don’t think so. It’s almost dinner time.”
“Pleeeeese?”
oooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooo
This made me sniffle like I haven’t sniffled since the Iron Giant. Felt good.
oooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooo
And by popular request, an image of the world’s only blonde, curly-headed Batgirl, who uses the power of sheer cuteness to melt evildoers into little puddles of goo:
And everyone else, too.
_____________________________________________________________________________
*And also that after years of playing a double reed, I never got used to the taste of lipstick.
** Yes, I lied to my children. But it’s not like they believed me.
Earful of Cider 
OPI how I love thee.
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Because it’s icky.”
For that you deserve mother of the year. Yes. You do.
Batgirl is unbelievable. So cute I can’t stand it. She and the blond spider squirrel would have made quite the superduo.
Batgirl and Spidersquirrel: Fighting Crime before Bedtime!
Quick! Someone help us figure out a Bat-logo and name that won’t get us sued. Is there a comic artist in the house?
Cutebat and Spidersquirrel?
Love the video, but the picture pips it for cuteness. Also, you must have the best carwash in the world.
The catch is, she knows it.
And apparently, our carwash is Aladdin’s treasure cave surrounded by an amusement park. I wonder if they still wash cars there?
Batgirl is the cutest and I have melted into a puddle of goo. Who knew I was an evildoer?
Oh God, the makeup counter visit . . .
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of Duchesses? Cutebat knows! 😀
Yup, she’s got the power. I’m totally liquified.
And I’m with you in the make-up department. Sometimes I wear lipstick just to prove I’m not dead but it really goes against my whole I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-I-look-like-so-you-shouldn’t-either look which I’ve spent many years perfecting.
I’d like to borrow the don’t-give-a-damn look, if you don’t mind—the gives-a-damn-but-is-too-lazy look is getting a bit passe. 🙂
OMG, look at the pose on little Batgirl! I’m undone!
Her aunt says she’s a Norman Rockwell preschool pin-up.
Her father didn’t laugh—I think he’s reconsidering his stance on shotguns in the house.
“Gild the thistle.” Love that! Your kids sound like mine. Aren’t they cute? (Said with equal measure of gush and sarcasm.) Love your site and look forward to reading more. (Have to admit the theme throws me off– took awhile for the tone of your words to sink in and to find the comment section.)
Hey, girl! Welcome! 🙂
Yeah, my two are especially adorable when their sense of self-preservation kicks in.
(I’ve been thinking about changing my theme for a while, but I haven’t found anything I like better, yet — I was in a chain-link mood when I set it up)