There’s a certain kind of a woman who wears red lip stick, or at least that’s what I had in my head when I bought my first shade of red lipstick almost a year ago.
That kind of a woman is sexy. She’s always been.
She wears red.
Or, if not carfeful, it wears her.
I said I’d wear it daily when I took it out of its packaging. You know when you convince yourself that the thing standing in the way of you being more fabulous is x and that until you get x you can’t begin the journey towards fabulous-ness?
Yeah. Well my x was this red lipstick.
When I got it, I put it in one of the smallest pockets in my purse for that stated purpose. I removed all my safe neutral glosses from all the other pockets to force myself to be more fabulous.
But then after wearing it twice, I got tired of looking at my lips in red, and reapplying it and looking at my lips and seeing it on cups and reapplying it and wondering at playdates if was all just “too much.”
So, I stopped wearing it.
Then I lost it and forgot about it.
Until a week ago, when Nya found it.
When she found it, she ran into a corner, did her first application, said “ta-da!,” then came back for a second and third application.
I usually don’t allow her to ruin the makeup I never wear, the $25 lipsticks and $10 eyeliners. But since she was careful and did her sister a favor of a providing a trial makeover, I let it slide.
She loves makeup. Even though she only watches Nick Jr and the last time I wore makeup was months ago, she’s learned, somehow, that this is what girls do.
They wear makeup. They wear it because it’s what women do. That’s what some women (and girls) do.