Captain's Log #29 - Putting on Your Face

When I was 7, in 1960, I remember bemoaning my only career options were secretary, like my mom, nurse, or teacher. Later I learned that other girls had nun as a possibility. Life didn’t seem worth living if that’s what the future held. It was an era of pointy-boob bras, you had to stuff toilet paper in the ends to fill them out because breasts aren’t shaped like that. It was an era of girdles and nylons – that always got runs even though they knew how to make them so they wouldn’t. An era of dirty jokes and cat-calling, which were obviously aggressive and implied some sort of violence, so I wore clothes that hid my gender, generally floppy tops. At my wedding reception my father derisively said, I bet she’s pregnant. I wasn’t. As a kid I didn’t want any part of The Feminine  so played in the mud, climbed trees - falling out and breaking my arms, twice - and ran barefoot in the grass. At Christmas I got a doll, what am I supposed to do with this? At 7 I swore I would never, ever, wear pink. Twenty years later I discovered I looked fantastic in pink! And so did the few men I saw. I make a point of complimenting men wearing pink; I think it takes some courage.

A few years ago, while at an open house at a nice property, I noticed there were two dressing areas in the master bedroom. The woman’s area had a chair, a counter full of colorful paints and a magnifying mirror. Oh, is that how older women apply makeup? I’ve reached the age where makeup would be an improvement but my eyesight has deteriorated so I have to apply it with a spatula, which rather ruins the effect.

Last night I dreamed of buying eye shadow at a makeup counter. I wanted the one on the bottom and, of course, the entire stack collapsed on the floor. I don’t wear eye makeup, it gets in my eyes, turns them red (so sexy blood-shot eyes), and causes me to wear a pained expression.

A few years ago I got some professional photos taken for business. I had the sense to get my hair cut and hire a makeup artist, the best money I ever spent. She did a great job painting my face but I was shocked when I saw what she’d done. I almost screamed, take it off, this isn’t me! She coaxed me to keep it on and the effect in the photographs was terrific! As I drove home from the photo shoot I thought, I have to show my friends! But it made my skin crawl, I couldn’t wait to scrape it off. That makeup artistry lives on only in those pictures.

When I was in my early 40’s I was part of a mixed gender group that met weekly for years. I was speaking with two men and somehow the conversation turned to me. One man said, Karla is the most beautiful woman in the room. The other said, yeah, and she doesn’t even know it. What do you say to that? Ok, thanks but I’ve never noticed that it’s done anything for me. Perhaps it has but 20 years later I’m still pulling out their comment when I walk into a room, for example, I accompanied my partner to a marijuana dispensary where there were a lot of people my age and I puffed up thinking, I am the most beautiful woman in the room - and not a speck of makeup. Still, I’d prefer to be the most witty and sociable. There are times I wish I could throw on a Burqa, a sack over my body, instead I have to do my hair, put on earrings and tidy up. My mother used to say she had to ‘put on her face’ before she went out. I hear you, mom.