This morning I had an epiphany.
I know why old people die.
It's because they get sick
of looking at themselves
in the mirror every morning!
Heaven's to Betsy-
I look wild in the morning!
You'd think I'd been
swinging with Tarzan all night
or playing Don Ho
with my hair.
I have raccoon eyes
and night zits
and jowls
that belong on old pig.
I'm frumpled
and frazzled
and freaky!
Thank the Lord for makeup!
How lucky us women are
that we can learn the art of disguise-
that we can cover up,
color over,
or pull tight
anything that doesn't suit us.
Yet, going into the cosmetic aisle
in the store is an overwhelming experience.
The choices are endless.
It's almost like buying spare parts.
Brush on, comb on, or curl on mascara?
Cream, mousse, or spray foundation?
Red, orange, or pink?
Gloss, frost, or matte?
And is $20 eyeshadow
any different than
the economy sized $2.50 version?
Do I want plump, pouty
or puckery lips?
Do I want a smokey eye,
a bright eye,
or an evening-look eye?
And I want to know how come-
when you get older-
that your eyebrows and lashes
start to fall out
and begin growing on your chin?
Who in the heck really knows?
One of my favorite and
most essential products
is Oil of Olay.
Now they are offering
micro-abrasion,
heat therapy,
regenerating,
anti-aging,
cellular repairing
merchandise.
How do I choose?
(Other than putting a limit
on my purse strings).
Is my face really worth $35
of creams and lotions?
Will the 30 day
miracle treatment fail miserably?
Will I have money left over
for a new hair brush?
Then we must also buy tools.
Like tweezers and clippers
and curling irons
and flat irons
and blow dryers and eyelash curlers.
Face it.
It takes practice
and patience
and a certain amount of
pretending
to look good.
After cleaning up a bit this morning-
after the creams
and lotions
and masks
and markers
and liners
and pencils
and sticks
and exfoliating exhilaration-
I guess I look fairly good.
Thank God I do have a vivid imagination...
That's one thing money can't buy!
