This Is Us
My So-Called ‘Addiction’ Dates Back 5,000 Years
Go ahead, poke fun at my little lipstick compulsion
I was one of 51 seventh-graders getting ready for the Marieville School dance. It was December, and this was to be our first introduction to society, right there in the gymnasium.
It was a big night. With her shiny black Singer, my mother had made me a gold satin, quilted, high-waisted, A-line maxi skirt with a matching bolero vest. I wore it over a black smocked blouse with poet sleeves and a pair of black patent leather shoes from Kinney’s. My hair was piled up with holly and baby’s breath. I was a brand-new person. A woman, nearly. I just needed that one last element… that something special.
My mom studied my face. She hesitated. And then out came the final touch. Lipstick. Pale, frosted, and pink.
Yesterday, as every day, I took off my protective mask and put it aside for washing. Beyond all the microbial life undetectable to the naked eye, a single long hair tangled into an ear loop, and a small accidental drop of dried toothpaste on the edge, there was a red smudge on the lining of the mask.
It’s because I wear lipstick.
Some of my colleagues have stated that Covid-19 has saved them lots of money on…
