Secret Lives Of Children, Part One
Saturday night Bob and I went to a dinner/auction for my daughter's school. Old Hollywood was the theme, and dressing up was strongly encouraged.
I decided to go as Marilyn Monroe, and Bob went as JFK (great conversation piece at a conservative Catholic benefit). I was getting ready, and realized that I had no red lipstick. Or eyeshadow that was anything but a pale brown. How could I go as Marilyn without the shiny apple lips and blue shadowed eyes? In a panic, I threw on some jeans and announced that I was going to race over to the mall and waste a bunch of money on makeup I'd wear once.
In walks Chloe.
"What colors are you looking for, exactly?"
"Sweetie, mama's in a hurry, I'll talk to you when I get back."
"Okay, but if you tell me what colors you need, you won't have to go to the mall."
I know, she's nine. Obviously, she doesn't wear makeup at all, ever, unless she's playing dress up. But then I remembered the time when I ran out of mascara and was in the same quandary. Chloe had quietly gone into her room and came out with two different mascaras, brown and black, both Estee Lauder. She was like the street guy with the trench coat and the fake designer watches inside. You need waterproof or non clumping? There's more where this came from. I'm just saying.
So I looked at Chloe and told her what I needed.
"Go back upstairs, mom. I'll bring you what you need."
If you'd be so kind as to direct your attention to the photo in the upper right corner, that is what she brought me. My child is the black market supplier of all things cosmetic, but I'm telling you, I had three shades of red to choose from.
So we had a great time, Bob kept antagonizing the pius with comments like "JFK was a Catholic!" or "Marilyn was the ultimate patriot" and running off the youth leaders and priests, who were decidedly more comfortable chatting up Lucille Ball and Desi. Besides, we don't think they knew us, since we're never in church.
We left at a decent hour, as I hummed "happy birthday, Mr. President" to my husband, and I vowed to check Chloe's birthday presents a little more carefully at the next party. You never know what slips by.
Saturday night Bob and I went to a dinner/auction for my daughter's school. Old Hollywood was the theme, and dressing up was strongly encouraged.
I decided to go as Marilyn Monroe, and Bob went as JFK (great conversation piece at a conservative Catholic benefit). I was getting ready, and realized that I had no red lipstick. Or eyeshadow that was anything but a pale brown. How could I go as Marilyn without the shiny apple lips and blue shadowed eyes? In a panic, I threw on some jeans and announced that I was going to race over to the mall and waste a bunch of money on makeup I'd wear once.
In walks Chloe.
"What colors are you looking for, exactly?"
"Sweetie, mama's in a hurry, I'll talk to you when I get back."
"Okay, but if you tell me what colors you need, you won't have to go to the mall."
I know, she's nine. Obviously, she doesn't wear makeup at all, ever, unless she's playing dress up. But then I remembered the time when I ran out of mascara and was in the same quandary. Chloe had quietly gone into her room and came out with two different mascaras, brown and black, both Estee Lauder. She was like the street guy with the trench coat and the fake designer watches inside. You need waterproof or non clumping? There's more where this came from. I'm just saying.
So I looked at Chloe and told her what I needed.
"Go back upstairs, mom. I'll bring you what you need."
If you'd be so kind as to direct your attention to the photo in the upper right corner, that is what she brought me. My child is the black market supplier of all things cosmetic, but I'm telling you, I had three shades of red to choose from.
So we had a great time, Bob kept antagonizing the pius with comments like "JFK was a Catholic!" or "Marilyn was the ultimate patriot" and running off the youth leaders and priests, who were decidedly more comfortable chatting up Lucille Ball and Desi. Besides, we don't think they knew us, since we're never in church.
We left at a decent hour, as I hummed "happy birthday, Mr. President" to my husband, and I vowed to check Chloe's birthday presents a little more carefully at the next party. You never know what slips by.
