Last night I left work and drove straight to grandmother's house without going over the hills and through the woods to get there. Harry's grandmother really wanted to go to this "Make up Party" that was being held at the local mall but there was one problem - she can't drive at night. So - I was the "obvious" choice.
We were given our small white Macy's bag and a red card that had various make-up brands along the edges. Like a parade of very well-dressed trick-or-treaters, the gaggle of girls with eagers faces trolled the counters to find the freebies. I managed to score about a ton and a half of various perfumes that smell basically the same - badly.
It was then time for our makeovers. Meme sat down on the white stool and the consultant immediately began swirling and sweeping foundation on her tiny face. My consultant was wearing four inch platform heels and four shades of eye shadow. Her hair, a color not found in nature, was teased, shellacked and sprayed into a helmet-like mass.
"I just can't see a thing without my glasses on," she said as she slid on a pair of thick spectacles. She studied a tube of mascara and then took off her glasses, set them aside and began applying powder foundation to my face. She then plastered on concealor so thick I could feel it crinkled when I faked a smile at my "progress."
Ten minutes later my left eye burned after she had "fixed" the eyeliner and she propped a gold mirror in front of me. "Check out your eyes - aren't they amazing?" And they were. It was amazing how much I looked like a fleshy Missy Peggy. I had purple eyeshadow streaked from my lashes to my eyebrow - to my cheekbones.
I tried to gargle my giggles as I nodded at my horrendous reflection.
"And don't you LOVE the pink lipstick? It's called 'Candy'!"
My lips looked like the "After" picture of a collegean injection gone wrong. Pink wax lips waggled in the mirror as my face contorted in a half-grimace, half-bemused state.
"It's great," I lied through my teeth, the only part of my face spared from the magical makeup Muppet transformation.
"Let's go eat," I commanded as I gathered up my goodies, my coat and my grandmother-in-law who, compared to my Muppet-status looked like an elderly fairy. Beautiful and glowing while I looked like a heavy-handed clown who had fallen face first into a vat of Crayola markers.
I left Meme in the waiting area of Olive Garden while I ran to the bathroom to call Harry.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"Oh, great! Meme looks like an eighty year old angel and I look like a chubby whore!" I said simultaneously trying to pee and offend everyone in the adjacent stalls.
"Oh. You have to send me a picture!" That's my husband. Supportive. Loving. And always knows what to say.