Like Woman, Like Skin Tone

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Like Woman, Like Skin Tone
Mar 31, 2003

Lanie invited me over to learn some new make-up techniques. She worries that the real me could better hide my real age. I think that my make- up routine is just right, because it takes almost no time and almost no effort. But. Still. I agreed to go to her house because make-up parties can be a good excuse for girlfriend time. A girl just can’t get enough girlfriend time these days.

There were five of us who were willing to be wined, fed, and then subjected to rubbing lotions all over our faces. Everyone loved the moisturizers. Um. Except me. The more I rub my face, the redder it gets. Red Coat worried that I had Rosacea, a red faced skin condition. I was kind and accepted her non-medical diagnosis. Now. I am not a dermatologist, but I have noticed over the years that the more I rub my face, the redder it gets. I know. I could have passed on the lotion. But. You know how it is. Everyone else was getting free stuff. I wanted free stuff too. I was willing to suffer for free, expensive lotion.

Foundation came next on the list of rub-ins. Lanie got her foundation selected out of the list of zillions of color possibilities. Man. They hit it just right. It glided on effortlessly and was deemed invisible by all of us. A woman’s dream: a layer of fake skin that looks real. She was the envy of the party.

“It is the exact color of your skin!” Brown hair said.

“No way. That match is perfect.” Strait teeth added.

“I hope my foundation is that good.” Model (not needing any make-up) said.

I wasn’t so kind. “Lanie, put your foundation on. That is why you are here. Please apply your make-up.” I said.

“It’s on. You know it is.” She said, slugging me.

“No. You didn’t put it on.” I lied. You have to make some trouble at these things. Hey. Buying makeup can be tiresome if you don’t lighten it up a little. Have you seen the prices?

Red Coat came over and scraped Lanie’s cheek to be sure that she was wearing at least a little covering.

I whispered to her, “I like the little scrape marks on your cheek. They really become you.”

She answered by slugging me again. This time harder.

I gave Red Coat that look that I learned from my disruptive emotionally disturbed students back when I was teaching. You know the look. The one that says, “Please move me. She’s the bad one.” Red Coat tried ignoring us. Um. No.

My turn for foundation came. My first sample might have been aptly named ‘Deathbed.’ “I love it. I want a tube of this for a day when I don’t want to work. Wait. Put me down for two tubes.” I said, as the others tried not to giggle.

“Oh. Maybe I should get one of those too.” Strait teeth said. “I could guilt my husband into cleaning out the garage.” We all laughed.

Red Coat handed me a wet towel to clean my face.

The next foundation looked a bit like one of those fake tans out of the bottle. “I’ll take it! Now I don’t have to go to Florida anymore! This is much cheaper!” I insisted, as the others giggled.

Red Coat was not happy that my skin tone was impossible to match. Like woman, like skin tone? She handed me another towel. Each time I scrubbed off the wrong color and reapplied moisturizer, my skin became even cherrier. I held back the comment about the sunburned look she was giving me, free of charge. See. I really was showing decorum.

Finally we settled on a weak bottled version of my own skin tone. Not invisible, but not ghostly either.

Red Coat turned to a page in our booklet and asked me to read out loud. I thought that she was joking. She wasn’t. I tried to read it strait. Really. I did try. But. I couldn’t. My voice naturally fell from happy-go-lucky to French accent to learning disabled. Lanie tried to kick me into submission, but it didn’t work.

It was time for lipstick.

The pilot leaned back in her chair. “If only I could find a tube of my favorite coral lipstick from high school. It’s almost gone now.”

“You’re kidding.” I said.

“No. I’ve been searching for that color for years.” She said, sighing.

“You know.” I said. “There have been some new color inventions in lipstick in the last twenty years...” I looked at Red Coat for approval. Hey. This was her big chance. A woman in need of a new lipstick color.

The pilot sat up. “I did buy a new color once. I tried it on in the cockpit. The first officer sitting next to me turned and saw it. He let out an involuntary yelp with a full body flinch.”

Oh. We had a good laugh with that one, and a powerful high-five. We all wrote down the color of that lipstick. Imagine. Lipstick that could make a man involuntarily yelp.

I wondered why Red Coat was regarding me hatefully and not pulling out a list of colors as a possible replacement for the pilot’s coral of the eighties. Hey. Maybe she is a secret proponent of naked faces.

About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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