"Do you mind stopping in the police department?" she asked. "I have to file a report for that fender bender."
She took a spot by the counter, while I sat down to the side with her daughter. I was entertaining the child with my cell, looking down, when I realized an officer had come out behind the partition and was standing in front of me.
"Do you need any help?" he asked tenderly, concern in his eyes.
"Um, no, not me, she does," I said, motioning to my befuddled friend, ignored at the front desk.
"Oh," he said sheepishly, and scurried back from whence he came.
When we left, she said it: "It was the makeup." It's not about looks—she herself is quite pretty. But somehow, taking a few minutes in the morning to swipe on mascara and lipstick makes the world respect you, and eager to help you.
So if you ever in need of a favor . . . begin by buffing on some blush.
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