You rook mahvelous

A few months ago, I attended one of those beauty parties. What I came away was the new knowledge that since the ring finger is the weakest digit, they provide the gentlest application of eye cream (which I bought), and the thought that this kind of direct marketing might be a good opportunity for my younger step-daughter, who, at this writing, is planning a career in the beauty industry. (She even makes her own emollients. “Emollients” is one of our favorite words.)

So I contacted not only the consultant from the party, but the two top rival companies. I asked a laundry-list of questions, looked up ingredients. And, most important, I sampled. It took more than a month to make my decision. Well, two decisions. One was which product line I thought was best. The other: that I would sell it.

Yep, I am now a SENIOR Beauty Consultant (notice all those caps). So in addition to writing, I am carrying a big black-and-pink bag (that’s a hint) around town, handing out catalogues and samples and booking parties, where we apply exfoliants, serums, moisturizers and…emollients!

The thing is, until I embarked on this new – and additional – career, I hadn’t embraced girly things since retiring my Barbie doll after her last and tragic “hair appointment.” (In real life, I would have been sued.) Except for sunscreen, I hadn’t paid much attention to my skin. And except for that ugly two-year period between 1977 and 1979 when I didn’t dance disco but did dress it, I hadn’t worn more than a little mascara and lip gloss for special occasions – until I received my starter kit. Now, I’m all about liners and definers. And I’m meeting a lot of women like me, who rebelled after being raised by moms who wouldn’t get the mail at the curb without putting on lipstick. Who wanted to be admired for our brain power instead of our blush powder. These same women arrive at my parties after a long day of work or family, wearing their weariness or anxiety like a winter coat, but leave, saying, “This was fun! I feel great!”

You know how you feel when you have a bad cold? Worse if you’re lying on the couch in a sea of balled-up tissues. Better after you’ve showered and put on clothes. With my right hand held high and my left hand on my beauty-kit “bible” I swear there’s a connection between believing you look pretty darn good and feeling pretty darn good, or healthy, or confident. Women and men. Look like a million. Feel like one in a million. Make a million! Yep, that’s me, diving into my black-and-pink bag, saying, “You have got to try this new collagen-boosting night repair serum.” But the real boost is more than only skin-deep.

Me in my Mary Kay face. Did I write that out loud?


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