In eighth grade, I wore tons of make-up to Catholic school. I was a rebel. Trying to hide my outbreaks, I covered them with a layer of Clearasil beneath my beige foundation and powder. But it wasn’t just about my bad complexion. Oh no. I wanted to look like a movie star, like Elizabeth Taylor or Sophia Loren. I penciled in my eyebrows with black eyebrow pencil, jet-black eyeliner thickly lining my eyes, and I topped it all off with jade green eye-shadow that came in a long tube something like a lipstick. My mouth I left blank. This made my eyes stand out more.
The fact that we weren’t allowed to wear make-up to school created all this excitement in me, and one day when Sister Theonilla was walking down the aisle in her long black robe, her wire-rim glasses perched on her nose and her skin the color of oatmeal, she stopped at my desk, moved in closer and slowly ran her index finger across my eyelid. The tip of her finger came back green.
“I’m not wearing make-up,” I said defiantly. Oh, the thrill of it. This was the beginning of my long career as a liar.
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
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