forgetting my face

I walked out of my apartment this morning with a deadline ahead. I had to go to North, to the bronx then head South to work, dropping off my library book on the way. As I was getting to the subway I realized that I had forgotten to put on makeup this morning. I had gone into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face and went about getting ready. Not even a layer of mascara (my usual staple) was applied.

At first the usual flood of terror that rushes over a naked faced gal hit me. I thought about the contents of my purse. Was there a bag of makeup-to-go floating around in there? There was not. Did I have time in my deadline to stop at a drug store to purchase some emergency supplies? I wasn’t sure, nor did I want to spend the money to buy things I already had at home (an adult way of thinking??? could be). What would the guys at work think? Would they comment on how I looked different this morning or say that I looked tired? I began to get a tad stressed over the idea.

Then, as quickly as the flood of nervousness had come, it was gone. I didn’t really care to stress about it. In fact, I felt a little sense of relief. My face, the way it naturally looks, was out there in the world, the way it’s meant to be. And if someone was going to say something about it, oh well. There are plenty of other faces out there for them to look at. It was wonderful not worrying about my eye liner running when a rain drop hit my eye. When I had an itch I didn’t see all my eye shadow on the end my finger and I was glad.

Sometimes I forget that I’m not so bad off without makeup. Sure it can help, but it’s ok to not use it too. And I’m sure my skin appreciates the fresh air. It’s funny how in forgetting to put on “my face” this morning, I ended up remembering my face after all.

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