I allow myself to use my favorite lipstick so rarely that I hadn’t realized it was missing from my super-secret make-up stash until I found it in my youngest daughter’s box of treasures.
She helps herself to my old make-up. She had no idea the value this tiny tube holds.
Because it was my birthday, I decided to wear my “special” lipstick.
The lipstick smeared. Without thinking, I wiped it off with my index finger.
Then I went back to the computer to write what eventually became what you now read. Later, I noticed the pink dots and smudges over the once white keyboard.
I didn’t mind. In fact, I smiled. After all, it was my favorite lipstick. Even the color, “Les roses,” made me happy.
While there’s no doubt that make-up specialists wearing barely green jackets standing behind glass cases filled with crazy-expensive oddly shaped bottles would approve of this ancient tube of lipstick, I love it.
I love the way it feels. I love the way it smells. I love the way it looks.
And I must savor it.
It was a free sample a nice lady at a make-up counter far, far away gave me. She gave it to me simply because I was American.
We both knew her reasoning. I said something about liking pink. She immediately went to a special drawer and pulled out the small tube and said, “This is for you.”
I graciously accepted her gift and was touched by the generosity. I didn’t realize until later, after I left the country of its origin, the near mystical powers of the tiny tube — a veritable fountain of youth in a pink and gold plastic tube.
In reality, it may not make me look any different than I do on my best or worst days, but who’s living in reality? When I’m wearing it, I feel…well…I feel pretty.
It’s a beautiful shade of pink — almost the exact shade Estee Lauder called Ceramic Pink and discontinued after I wore it every day for seven years.
But with this lipstick, it’s not about color.
It’s about the way it feels.
It’s about fragrance.
It’s about sheen.
When I first wore it, I was young. And, the bottom line is, that’s the way it still makes me feel.
I knew from the get-go that this stuff was special. Just putting on the lipstick was intoxicating and has always reminded me of far-away places I may never see again. After recovering my treasure from my daughter’s treasures just before my birthday dinner, I put on the lipstick and felt just as young as the first day I wore it.
Of course, the lipstick-induced euphoria never lasts long.
By the time I got to the Noodle House, I was brought back to earth. We were having a lovely time. I was convinced friends must be wondering where I got such lovely lipstick when one of them leaned over and whispered, “You’ve got lipstick on your teeth.”
I didn’t care. I still felt pretty.