So I'm standing in my bathroom affixing certain cosmetics to my face which, if you knew me at all, isn't really all that much (I'm talking a little concealer, eyeliner and swipe of lipgloss and you're done kind of make-up application), and my daughter, who loves to sit on the toilet and watch my every, most fascinating I'm sure of it move, says to me, "Mama what is that stuff you're putting on your face?"
I do a quick inventory of what is left of my brain on this early Friday morning, weighing the pros and cons of using certain language regarding cosmetics in front of my daughter because yes, I really don't want her to ever think her skin needs "covering up." And I, completely and utterly relenting to what is a monumental cop out, say, "It's Cover Girl." Because taking the marketing, brand-name road is always better than taking the I'm not good enough and my skin sucks road in front of impressionable 6 year old girls, no?
I thought so.
"What's Cover Girl for?"
Oh she is a crafty one, that girl.
"Oh, you know," I say, rubbing the Noxema scented, full of chemicals, and I mean really, I can't believe I still use this stuff concealer on my face, "It evens out my skin tone." (Especially following a night of imbibing in cocktails, but I leave that part out)
"What's skin tone?"
You sly fox!
"Oh, you know," here I go again, I think, "It just makes my skin look normal."
Oh perfect! That is a wonderful thing to say to her. What the heck is wrong with me - I'm going to forever screw up her idea of self worth, her self esteem, her body image and view of beauty. Forever. I've failed. I'm done. It's over. Gloria Steinam will hang me. Dr. Ruth will burn me at the stake...
Oh wait, that's another topic entirely. Nevermind.
I conclude my make up application session, dry my hair the rest of the way, and urge her to "shake a leg" because if we dilly dally anymore into this great morning, we're going to miss the final bell at her school. And crime doesn't pay - you should never be late for kindergarten.
She hops off the toilet, takes one more look at me and bounds out the door. But not before saying the following:
"That's so weird."
Gosh...I just love her.