Posted by Danny
I’ve started wearing makeup – well, at least for our play performances.
Apparently when you’re in a nearly Broadway musical, you wear makeup – regardless of your sex. On Friday, DJ reminded me we had to provide our own, so we headed to Target to peruse the cosmetics aisle.
DJ was concerned with the modes of makeup we would need and with getting the correct color. I was looking at the price.
“How about this stuff for you? It is on sale.”
“That is called base. As you can see, it is for someone with very dark skin. Is my skin that color?”
“But it’s a really good price.”
“We don’t even need base.” She reached for pencils.
“We are applying makeup, not writing a thesis paper. Why are you buying pencils?”
“They aren’t regular pencils dad. They are eye liner.”
I had two problems with this liner deal. First, I always have dark circles around my eyes. Why would I want to draw more? Second, I am not comfortable sticking pointed objects in close proximity to my cornea. My mother raised me to believe that most things had the potential to poke my eye out. Apparently a bible with a soft back would likely puncture my eyeball if I continued to run through the halls of my church. Imagine what this sharpened stick could do. My mother would not approve of this.
But DJ said we had to have it – and I found one for a dollar, so I succumbed.
The rouge reminded me of my grandmother. I remember sitting on her bed while she put her makeup on before she headed to work. She was a full-figured woman – in a Marilyn Monroe sort of way – and would sit in front of her mirror in her slip applying pink stuff all over her face. And she smelled so very good. It brought a warm moment, right there on aisle 5.
Our final purchase was lipstick.
When we arrived for our first A Christmas Carol performance on Saturday evening, my oldest daughter offered to paint my face.
When she finished the rouge, I looked like Truly Scrumptious on the music box in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I wiped much of it off on my sleeve.
She then pulled out the pencil, her instructions made me nervous: “You need to be very still or you’re going to get hurt.”
“You’re going to poke my eye out aren’t you?”
“If you don’t chill, I might.”
She is her mother’s daughter.
I put the lipstick on myself. I’d seen my mother rub her lips together to ensure an even spread – works. But when I looked in the mirror, most of it was on my teeth. I thought I’d pretty much aimed for my chops. But somehow, I’d smudged pink on every bicuspid and incisor in sight.
I think I’ve said this before – but I am really, really glad I’m a man.