I stood in the middle of a maze of cosmetic counters at Macy's department store, feeling like I needed a permission slip.
I had retreated there after deciding that I could not afford the $70.00 dress shoes that they were offering in the shoe department across the aisle. Besides that, there were shoes over there with such long sharp pointed toes, that I was afraid someone was going to put an eye out or something, and I didn't want to hang around and witness such a thing before I had eaten my lunch. They looked like brand new witch's shoes, before they had been broken in by kicking a few goblins or trolls around and getting that curled up at the toe look in all the fairy tale stories.
And even besides THAT, for some bizarre reason, they were piping in some particularly obnoxious rap music, that I briefly considered complaining to the management about.
So rather than get myself into trouble, I entered the cosmetic department with the wild idea that I might actually speak to someone there about makeup. But as I stood looking around me, I realized that I would have to choose a counter and each one was selling a different brand and I had no idea which one to choose.
One group of girls had on white coats and looked like doctors with amazingly good complexions. The other group looked a bit too gothicly made up and frightened me.
There was something about the vivid red lipstick they were wearing that gave me the willies.
I stood there in my yellow and white dress and white sweater with mary jane black velvet shoes on, holding my Longaberger basket purse frozen with indecision, literally chewing on my fingernail.
I just knew someone was going to come over and politely ask me to move along, as I was obviously in the wrong department.
Finally, a very sweet faced, young woman took pity on me and came over and asked if she could help me.
I practically hugged her in relief and confessed that I was going to attend my son's wedding and I felt like it was time I learned something about putting on makeup. I didn't know the first thing about it, and I needed help.
The only thing I wear on a regular basis is mascara. Because otherwise, my eyelashes are totally invisible. I have a very ruddy complexion and have had for as long as I can remember. My brother used to call me Rudolf because I always had a red nose.
Little brat.
Well, Julie (I found out her name later) sat me down took a look at me, did some thinking out loud about foundation choices and made her move.
She passed up the heavier makeup that she had at her disposal. She decided I needed a gentle breaking in, and chose the minimalist approach. (Wise girl).
She put on some kind of "base coat".... "Like painting walls?" , I wanted to know, that consisted of something that she told me contained corn silk. (The only corn silk I had ever run across was in the garden, on the corn stalks, but it sounded familiar and made me feel rather at home. Who would have thought gardening would come up here in this chrome and glass realm?) Then she applied the tiniest amount of brown stuff from a tube and finished it off with some translucent powder and handed me a mirror.
"Eh!" I exclaimed. I could not believe my eyes. My red cheeks were now a lovely pink with a golden undertone and my nose wasn't lighting up the surrounding area like a searchlight anymore. Unbelievable! She then gave me eyebrows. They frightened me when I had a look in the mirror, and I almost bolted on her until she wiped some of them off. Whew!
Then we went over and sat on a different chair and she put on three shades of eyeshadow. Lilac, light brown, and dusty pink, all in their own special area of my eyelids. (I found out I have 3 special areas that should be treated differently. . . Who knew!). She was a magician! I was in awe.
I was also in awe when she told me how much this stuff cost. But I held my breath and took the makeup in the tube and the translucent powder. I promised to come back after payday and get the "base coat", which I think was the key to the whole thing to tell you the truth. And now, thanks to my initiation at Julie's hands, I know what kind of eye shadow to buy, cheap, at Wal-Mart.
I thanked her profusely and walked out of the store wondering if anyone was going to point and laugh and call me an imposter. No such catastrophe took place. I spent the rest of the time in the mall checking out other people's eyebrows, wondering if THEY were real, or fake like mine.
So at the tender age of 53, I now know how to put on a little makeup, so I don't scare people at my youngest son's wedding. Heck, they won't even be able to tell that I don't normally have visible eyebrows or eyelashes now will they?
And they are going to have to rely on regular lighting for the ceremony, since my nose will no longer be available for the job.
Sweet!