戴安娜·梅麗蒂斯·弗格爾/Diane Meredith Vogel
My oldest daughter stopped by today on her way to a job interview. At twenty-one, Erin was ready to venture into the corporate world, and I was so proud of her. She wanted a critique on her appearance and for me to pray with her before she went to the interview.
“You look just great,”I told her,“Really nice. I'd hire you in a heartbeat.”
She smiled and did a runway model turn to show the full impact of her ensemble. If the Job were based on appearance alone, other candidates would have a hard time outshining her. Slim and tan, blond and beautiful, she looked healthy and confident in her interview outfit.
Her makeup, of course, was perfect. She'd invested a lot of time and patience in learning to apply her makeup just so. At first glance, you would think she was wearing no makeup at all. Being naturally blond, she had started by darkening her brows and applying mascara, to show off her long lashes. She used just a hint of shadow to bring out the color of her eyes. A light brush of peachy blush accentuated her cheekbones and gave her a healthy glow. Her lipstick color was a few shades darker than her lips but looked completely natural.
It doesn't surprise me that Erin is so masterful with makeup. After all, she'd been fascinated with it since she was a chubby, flaxen-haired toddler.
When Erin was three, I became pregnant with her sister, and to my dismay, she gave up her daily naps just about the time first trimester fatigue set in. Some days, I desperately needed a nap after lunch, but I also needed to keep an eye on my active little girl. I found a happy solution when I discovered that Erin loved to“make Mommy pretty”with makeup.
As I rested in the recliner, which put me at the perfect level for Erin to reach me, she'd brush and play with my hair and practice putting makeup on me. I almost felt guilty, it felt so good to be pampered like that. As long as she was right there, touching me, I could rest-but the instant she wandered off, my internal alarm woke me right up.