This Doesn't Just Happen

I can't stand it when people ask me a question but then don't want to hear the answer. 

"How did you manage to get your lipstick to stay on for three days on yontif?"

"I ate with a dessert spoon and used a straw and—"

She scoffs, cutting me off, waving a disparaging hand. 

This is not an isolated case.

Often, people ask me questions but are unhappy with my answers, annoyed I didn't say what they wanted to hear. 

In this woman's case, I'm guessing she wanted me to tell her that:

(1) I found some magic lipstick that stays on despite soup slurping, apple munching, and sleeping with one's face in the pillow; 

(2) That I had put in on on yontif; 

(3) I am I actually a mutant whose x-genome/power is makeup without products, like Mystique.

Yup, you found me out.

Then the one who inquires as to my skin regimen. "What do you do with your face already?" 

"It takes me about 20 minutes every night. I wash, I exfoliate, I moisturize, I eye cream, I lip balm—" 

"Oh, please, what for?" 

"So my skin will look good when I'm 50." 

"C'mon! Your skin will look fine at 50!" 

How do you know? And what is it to you how I spend my time? 

Walking along with my niece, she sighed that she wished her hair was like mine.

Her untamed tresses, when thoroughly brushed, gleam like rose gold. Any issues she has is with its texture—thick, frizzy, riotous waves—which could be helped with serious conditioning. I would know, since my hair, untreated, would have the same consistency.

"Cookie, do you think my hair just happens? Every week I massage in coconut oil, then let it sit for an hour; after shampooing it out, I condition again; next, leave-ins and serums; finally I carefully style, trying not to torture my hair too much, until my arms are exhausted." 

Her eyes glaze over. "Forget I said anything."

But there is hope for her, yet. She religiously uses the oversized bottle of Garnier Fructis Sleek & Shine Conditioner I gave her, and claims to use the de-frizzing serum from me as well. One day she arrives at the house, product free, her hair refusing the ministrations of a brush. I quickly dampen her hair, slap in some product, blow it a little, and while she grumbles throughout the process she can't resist stroking her now manageable mane.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If you are going to ask me how my eyeshadow stays on, here's a heads up: It's work, not fairy dust.