Because one is the loneliest number

Still to be neat, still to be dressed,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art’s hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all the adulteries of art;
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

-Ben Jonson

Makeup.

That first step in the overall process of socialization for human females.

A grooming ritual performed primarily in order to portray an image of looking better than one actually is.

I’ve tried cosmetics in the past.  Sometimes I still do, just to fit in.  I seem to be the one woman on the planet that isn’t interested in this stuff that other ladies go crazy over.  Even my sisters think I’m nuts because I choose to head out of the house with nothing on my face except some moisturizer and sunscreen.

Something about makeup never appealed to me, besides the fact that even when it’s done right I feel I look more like Ronald McDonald than some Indian beauty queen.  There’s just something so illusionary about it.  That’s not to say I never tried to like it, though.

After a few YouTube searches on how to makeup tutorial, I gave up and decided that face paint application is apparently more complex than advanced calculus.  Just the amount and types of brushes they used confused the hell out of me.  Even the doctors that performed my two cesareans had less instruments to work with.

I’m also hopeless with jewelry.  My mom almost killed me for all of hers that I misplaced when I was a teenager.  You haven’t seen crazy angry until you’ve come across an Indian woman bemoaning the loss of her gold finery.

A lot of ladies out there are probably thinking that with my dislike for things that are synonymous with femininity, I’m really a man hiding two grapefruits underneath his shirt.  If I miss any more waxing appointments I just might fit that description.

But no.  All ovaries, eggs, and monthly bloating here.  My collection of clothes, shoes, hair care products, and perfumes can attest to that.

Wait a sec.  Who ever said you need to qualify in order to be a woman?

In the past I’ve been made to feel like an unsophisticated and simple country mouse due to my preference for the bare faced look, but I say to each woman her own.  You like going out caked in layers of overpriced cosmetics, go for it.  If you prefer the I just woke up, zombie look, go for that.  If you want to  grow out the hair in your armpits and not shower for a week, then –

Never mind.  Don’t do that last one.

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