My Face is My Own

She beckoned me close, and I proffered my cheek for what I believed to be a sentimental air-kiss. Instead, that crooked finger turned into an accusatory jab. 

"Your eye shadow is too much," she said. 

Via youtube.com

I blinked. 

"People have commented on it," she continued, sotto voce. 

At this point I lapsed into my "good girl" act, merely smiling and emitting unantagonizing "Mmm!"s.

"I'm serious," she harangued. "You look so much better with less." 

"Mmm!" I hummed.

It is quite interesting that it did not occur to me to point out that the wobbly line drawn atop her lashes distorted the naturally lovely shape of her eyes—liquid eyeliner is difficult to get right, and unlike other styles it cannot be flubbed or fudged. It must always be perfect. But it would never occur to me that I should voice my observations out loud. 

"How dare she?" Ma hissed, having been standing behind me. "My child, living under my roof—does she think that I have no say in your appearance?" 

Ma blesses my Face as it is—she has only drawn the line, currently, at red lipcolor. Most of what I know about the Face from her, and being a good girl, I defer to her fashionable judgement in most things. Often there is a smug comfort in obeying thy parents. 

There was a plethora of three-day yontifs this year, and I decided to apply my lipstick in a manner that would survive for two days, not into the third, since by day three my lips would be painfully dry and flaking. Ergo, I pranced to shul with my eye makeup still going strong, but my lips were quite bare. 

"You look so much better without lipstick!" a woman enthused. 

"Mmm!" I thrummed, bored. 

"Really," she said, scooting into a closer chair, "People have commented," her voice dropped conspiratorially. "You could buy a clear lip gloss instead!" she suggested excitedly, warming to her theme. "You know, the ones that come in a roll-on?" 

I repressed the urge to laugh. (1) She was going to tell me something about makeup that I don't already know? If I wanted to wear lip gloss, lady, I would. I am well aware they are available for sale. (2) Her husband has been hounding me why I stopped wearing brighter lip colors on Shabbos. I smiled cheerfully at him instead. He appreciates me.

She turned to Ma, reproach in her eyes. Ma faux-sighed and faux-apologized, "She likes lipstick." 

My current Shabbos option is the tamest of shades, Maybelline Superstay 14-Hour Lipstick in Perpetual Peony. It is, like, the lightest color available. I have gotten a myriad compliments for its suitability, outweighing the few criticisms. "People" have asked how I achieve the look. 

Perhaps some are disconcerted when I dabble in vibrant palettes; but who am I offending now with the most innocuous of hues? 

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Out for a much-needed walk later that day, another stopped me. "You look so much better with natural lips!" she began. "People have commented," she murmured. 

"Mmm!" I was starting to get annoyed. 

(1) I find it highly unlikely that these supposed "people" don't have anything better to talk about besides my makeup. (2) I feel no need to comport with others as to any of their actual fashion and makeup flubs.

Oh Zeidy, you said it right. Deh mole mis gein. The mouth has to move.