PICASSO'S MAKEUP SALON
I should be glad that I still have two eyes which basically work. Notice the word "basically," which means one of them isn't worth much. I am grateful I can see--mostly--and that my right eye is darn nifty. But the left one...
The reason for going into this (surely you are interested in my eyesight?) is to explain that applying makeup in the morning so I don't frighten the horses has become an ordeal. Picture this:
--First I smooth Dr. Hauschka Quince Day Cream over my face, the delicious smell lifting my spirits. Then comes beige concealer beneath my eyes, along the brown spots on my cheeks, and over odd bits and pieces above my brows indicative of too much sunbathing in the Caribbean.
--I grip my lip-liner firmly, as my hands are trembly this morning, and I don't want to make mistakes. Ooops! Up to my nostrils I go, trying to define my lips. They were here a few seconds ago. Where in hell did they go? Maybe they are cavorting with my left eye in some boozy dive. Anyway--the lip-liner skids and misses, but because I can't see so well, it doesn't much matter.
--Next comes the lipstick, applied carefully with a slight wobble within the wavering line. Not too bad. Now I look like everyone's grandma in church in the mid-fifties; all I need is one of those cool fold-out plastic hats to keep my hair from frizzing. Oh, wait, I forgot. I don't have hair. Perhaps my wig will frizz? More research is needed.
--Then comes the expensive eyebrow kit. I peer at the 3 plastic templates for my disappearing brows: one says, Fine (nope, too little); another Medium (looks good); and the third is full which looks like Einstein's facial hair. I seize the "Medium" template, plaster it carefully over my right brow, dip the brush in the brown powder, and stroke back and forth. When I remove the plastic, the right shape matches the exuberant and inaccurate lip-liner and zips way above the former natural line. I shrug my shoulders. We can't afford to be picky here. On to the left, which suffers the same disordered hand and comes out looking like Lucy Arnez's eyebrows
in the skit where she makes candy with Edith.
--Did I forget to mention eyeliner, either liquid or solid pencil? If my hand is too trembly I have to use the solid, as the liquid could go all to hell and back. Drawing lines on pulled-down eyelids doesn't seem to go well. Perhaps some of my kids' old crayons would work better?
--Panting slightly I smooth Benecos Organic "Honey" foundation (organic because we don't want to get cancer!) over my skin, paying special attention to the pouchy bits beneath my eyes. Perhaps I need some cucumbers there, or steak, which I could then eat raw to keep up my hematocrit levels for chemo. I start to hum, thinking I am making good progress as I pat on the translucent bronzing tint from Dr. Hauschka, which makes me look as if I had just run gaily through a meadow under a bright sun.
--Last to come is the black mascara, filling out the sparse hairs, and time for the wig from Raquel Welch. Tug it over my ears, and I am ready!
Bright orange mouth a tad off center; eyebrows lavishly drawn and expressing either surprise or disgust; foundation and tint applied with no big lumps; and--ta-da!--I am a graduate of Picasso's Makeup Salon.
The reason for going into this (surely you are interested in my eyesight?) is to explain that applying makeup in the morning so I don't frighten the horses has become an ordeal. Picture this:
--First I smooth Dr. Hauschka Quince Day Cream over my face, the delicious smell lifting my spirits. Then comes beige concealer beneath my eyes, along the brown spots on my cheeks, and over odd bits and pieces above my brows indicative of too much sunbathing in the Caribbean.
--I grip my lip-liner firmly, as my hands are trembly this morning, and I don't want to make mistakes. Ooops! Up to my nostrils I go, trying to define my lips. They were here a few seconds ago. Where in hell did they go? Maybe they are cavorting with my left eye in some boozy dive. Anyway--the lip-liner skids and misses, but because I can't see so well, it doesn't much matter.
--Next comes the lipstick, applied carefully with a slight wobble within the wavering line. Not too bad. Now I look like everyone's grandma in church in the mid-fifties; all I need is one of those cool fold-out plastic hats to keep my hair from frizzing. Oh, wait, I forgot. I don't have hair. Perhaps my wig will frizz? More research is needed.
--Then comes the expensive eyebrow kit. I peer at the 3 plastic templates for my disappearing brows: one says, Fine (nope, too little); another Medium (looks good); and the third is full which looks like Einstein's facial hair. I seize the "Medium" template, plaster it carefully over my right brow, dip the brush in the brown powder, and stroke back and forth. When I remove the plastic, the right shape matches the exuberant and inaccurate lip-liner and zips way above the former natural line. I shrug my shoulders. We can't afford to be picky here. On to the left, which suffers the same disordered hand and comes out looking like Lucy Arnez's eyebrows
--Did I forget to mention eyeliner, either liquid or solid pencil? If my hand is too trembly I have to use the solid, as the liquid could go all to hell and back. Drawing lines on pulled-down eyelids doesn't seem to go well. Perhaps some of my kids' old crayons would work better?
--Panting slightly I smooth Benecos Organic "Honey" foundation (organic because we don't want to get cancer!) over my skin, paying special attention to the pouchy bits beneath my eyes. Perhaps I need some cucumbers there, or steak, which I could then eat raw to keep up my hematocrit levels for chemo. I start to hum, thinking I am making good progress as I pat on the translucent bronzing tint from Dr. Hauschka, which makes me look as if I had just run gaily through a meadow under a bright sun.
--Last to come is the black mascara, filling out the sparse hairs, and time for the wig from Raquel Welch. Tug it over my ears, and I am ready!
Bright orange mouth a tad off center; eyebrows lavishly drawn and expressing either surprise or disgust; foundation and tint applied with no big lumps; and--ta-da!--I am a graduate of Picasso's Makeup Salon.
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