She leaves a mess of my vanity desk.
Eyeshadows opened and dabbled in and cast aside. Every brush has been dirtied, every sponge full of dust. Tiny fingerprints clung to the mirror as she pulled it down and closer to her face. She tries on three different looks in one day. Each time clamoring for my approval and I give it, sometimes with a helpful tip, and sometimes I just smile.
She learns it’ll all wash away with coconut oil and a soft, warm rag. She scrubs between looks, then runs back to do another. One time she’s a dragon. Another time a skull. She doesn’t want to be pretty, she wants to be someone scary. And I understand that sentiment so succinctly. Aren’t we all just trying to look brave?
A thirty dollar palette. A twenty dollar lipstick. She slathers it on, digs deep into the pots. A little can go a long way, I gently chide, but kids have no measure of their own strength. Every new idea is the first of its kind in their minds. And that kind of spark requires passion and firm grinding of my favorite kabuki brush into a solid black matte eyeshadow.
She asks me if I own blue lipstick. I do, my love. Here’s a navy. This is more baby blue. Or a teal. Maybe turquoise?
She has all the time in the world. And I watch her, but not too closely, lest I see what she’s doing to my favorite blusher and panic. When it’s all said and done she climbs into bed with me, curls up under my arm and asks me how she did.
“You did such a good job. You are very talented. If you keep practicing you might be a makeup artist, if you want.”
She sighs heavily. She smiles at me. Because she can be anything she wants to be. And besides…it’s only makeup.
Song Of The Day – “Slow Down” by Nicole Nordeman