She applies to cosmetics the same technique that she uses for her splatter paintings. Now and then she swabs the splashback off with a tissue soaked with spittle.
My looks may be improved by the ordeal but my confidence is not. 'I can't get the lip gloss on straight,' she says, making random sweeps with a tube of pink gel, 'because you've got all these little red lines going off your mouth.' When I am suitably glistening she tells me to keep my mouth shut at all times to hide my yellow teeth. Then she ponders a cunning hairstyle that will hide my moles.
Eventually I am ready to survey my new reflection. 'You look years younger!' she tells me. I look, in fact, like Colonel Gaddafi with conjunctivitis. She modifies my bright pink eyelids with bright blue and rubs a layer of the black mascara from my beetling brows with spit. The green face glitter she admits is a mistake and it's scrubbed off with loo roll. Then she leads me to the Vicar's study, certain that he'll rejoice anew in his life's companion. The Vicar looks up from his sermon. 'You look like a trollop!' he says. The ten-year-old sags. 'A very nice trollop,' he adds kindly.
I tell my my daughter that she has done a fine job. I don't tell her that I shall scrape every last bit of it off my face before taking my Mothers' Union vows in front of a congregation of 80. Then it hits me...
... I don't possess any make-up remover!
Nominations are now open for the Brilliance in Blogging Awards 2013. If you relish the thrill of voting, but are stumped for a candidate, feel free to use my URL in any of the categories! Should I be shortlisted my 10yo will give anyone who voted for me a makeover.
