Kiss and Make-Up

Just about everyone and everything that walks, talks, sings, dances, sells, buys, cooks, cleans, or just exists has a Facebook page. Some of them I call my friends. One of them I'm "married to," although he's been inactive for about two years. And some of them I've "liked," an action that has become the key to admittance into some more candid brand communities.

One of the more recent communities that I've joined is The Ellis School. Yes, my itty-bitty high school alma mater has a Facebook page. And yesterday, I got a glimpse not only inside the familiar hallways, but down into the underbelly of the school - the series of stuffy dressing, costume, and make-up rooms that only the elite Ellis thespians have seen.

I saw the mirrors, lights, and clutter. I saw the girls applying their make-up, giving themselves one last look in the mirror for confidence, and then ascending from the dungeoness bowels of the school. I was immediately transported back. Back to picking out my costume, balking at how unflattering it was, snickering in the girls dressing room as the brave boy who decided to make the trek over from Central Catholic to act with us ladies emerged in his ridiculous costume, and back to cluelessly trying to apply stage make-up to my face.

Back in grade-school Mrs. Hunter did our make-up. She simply powdered our oily adolescent noses and slapped some red lip stick on our lips. That did the trick. In high school, Mr. Altman demanded more. Rosier cheeks, fuller lips, bigger eyes, a more matte face, and a nose that didn't look quite so pug-like. There were tricks you could do with make-up apparently, and I didn't know any of them.

With bit roles freshman year, I slid under the radar with powder and lipstick. But sophomore year, when I got the lead role, the tap teacher (talk about a dream come true), in the winter play, Mavis Turner Tappers, I was told that I looked too young - that I needed to put on some make-up. So I went down to the dressing room and pulled out my Mom's sample sale Clinique eye-shadow. It was blue and came with a little application wand. I looked in the mirror, dipped the stick in the blue powder, closed one eye and pressed a band of color over it, and then did the same thing to the other eye. I looked in the mirror again. Bad. Fail.

Molly, can you help me please. 
Molly was a friend who went down into the costume room on a daily basis just to spice up her Ellis uniform. She was also good at make-up. And good at pretty. I knew she would come to my rescue.
What are you doing? Blend. You have to blend. Here, let me help. 

She brought over her make-up bag for reinforcements and went to work. Showing me as she went along how to do this in the future. Wow. That's what it's supposed to look like. Wow. I look a lot better. I had never learned how to put on make-up. My Mom never wore very much - just a little bit of rouge and lipstick, and she never encouraged us to wear much either. So I embraced the au naturale look through high school and college.

Around the age when the need to where make-up to look more mature meets the age when you need make-up to look a little younger, I started wearing it. I remembered the lesson that Molly gave me. I started looking at the Beauty sections of magazines to learn tricks of the trade. I started collecting eye shadows, and brushes, and an array of neutral palettes to reshape the contours of my face. Each day I played around with varying levels of success and went out the door with a spectrum of different looks ranging from Ozzie Ozborne to Raggedy Anne.

To this day I'm still learning. In fact, when I was getting dressed for our Rehearsal Dinner about a month ago, my friend Anne grabbed the blush out of my hand and asked, "what are you doing?!.. It goes here, not there." Lesson noted. But I'm at a point when I know how to blend, when I know what makes my eyes pop, and when enough is enough.

My Aunt Amy told me once that no matter how busy my Grandma's day was - how many babies had spit up on her, how many meatballs she been cleaned up from the floor, how many bathrooms she had scrubbed, how many spankings she had given, and how tired she was, she would always put on a little make-up at the end of the day and have a good dinner on the table by the time my Grandpa came home. I liked that vision. But more than that, I'm taking it as a marriage best practice.

Some days I give up on make-up during the work day. Sitting at my cube, rubbing my forehead and eyes throughout the day to get the headaches out is not conducive to mascara and eye-liner. But when I get home, I always wash my face and put on the amount of make-up that I now know how to apply. Enough to look fresh as a daisy for my husband. And I start making dinner. It helps me to disconnect from the day, and bring the honey, I'm home, back to Naperville.

I'm new at this, but I think putting your best face forward in marriage everyday helps, even if all you're applying is your smile. It also helps to start and end each day with a kiss. And luckily that came more naturally to me than putting on lipstick.

Lo.