Lipstick
By Sheryl C. S. Johnson
Granddaughter
Lipstick comes to play a great deal in my relationship with Barbara. When I was little she would let me put on lipstick from tiny sample tubes and when I was older she’d watch me apply my lip liner, fascinated by the process. I remember how quickly she would apply her own lipstick then use it as rouge in a few quick strokes to her cheeks that she would swiftly rub in.
One day she remarked that she liked that my lipstick was never faded. Several weeks before, my mother had purchased some non-fading lipstick on QVC. It was odd stuff. The actual shaft of lipstick was green but when you looked in the mirror your lips would be red. It stained your lips and traces would be left in the morning. It had an unnatural staying power. Barbara admired the lipstick so many times that I decided to order some for her. It was my goal in life to deny her nothing because she had been so very good to me, creating the only childhood moments I would ever have.
I was excited the day I brought her her own set of lipstick. I was proud of myself. She was thrilled. I visited a few days later and she told me one of the best stories I’ve ever heard. She was going out shopping, no doubt probably wearing her fuzzy red hat, and she applied her lipstick as always, using it as rouge. When she got home several hours later she looked in the mirror and had two perfect clown circles high on her cheek bones. She laughed so hard tears were threatening to leak out as she told me. It turns out that the lipstick was so powerful that it stained and dried before you could ever rub it in.
As I got older she always thought I looked sick. When I was finally old enough to drive I would visit her often. Without fail I’d walk in the door and she’d exclaim how pale I was. We didn’t know it then but I had hypoglycemia and PKD/PLD. The color of my face was the first thing she’d see when she saw me. She’d spend a half hour pumping me full of vitamins and food and continue to exclaim often the rest of our visit on how sickly I looked. Not flattering. Finally I got wise so I’d pull up in front of her house and apply a fresh layer of make-up, (using powdered rouge), and lipstick. Sure enough, if I was freshly made up she’d never remark on how sickly I looked. Sigh.
By Sheryl C. S. Johnson
Granddaughter
Lipstick comes to play a great deal in my relationship with Barbara. When I was little she would let me put on lipstick from tiny sample tubes and when I was older she’d watch me apply my lip liner, fascinated by the process. I remember how quickly she would apply her own lipstick then use it as rouge in a few quick strokes to her cheeks that she would swiftly rub in.
One day she remarked that she liked that my lipstick was never faded. Several weeks before, my mother had purchased some non-fading lipstick on QVC. It was odd stuff. The actual shaft of lipstick was green but when you looked in the mirror your lips would be red. It stained your lips and traces would be left in the morning. It had an unnatural staying power. Barbara admired the lipstick so many times that I decided to order some for her. It was my goal in life to deny her nothing because she had been so very good to me, creating the only childhood moments I would ever have.
I was excited the day I brought her her own set of lipstick. I was proud of myself. She was thrilled. I visited a few days later and she told me one of the best stories I’ve ever heard. She was going out shopping, no doubt probably wearing her fuzzy red hat, and she applied her lipstick as always, using it as rouge. When she got home several hours later she looked in the mirror and had two perfect clown circles high on her cheek bones. She laughed so hard tears were threatening to leak out as she told me. It turns out that the lipstick was so powerful that it stained and dried before you could ever rub it in.
As I got older she always thought I looked sick. When I was finally old enough to drive I would visit her often. Without fail I’d walk in the door and she’d exclaim how pale I was. We didn’t know it then but I had hypoglycemia and PKD/PLD. The color of my face was the first thing she’d see when she saw me. She’d spend a half hour pumping me full of vitamins and food and continue to exclaim often the rest of our visit on how sickly I looked. Not flattering. Finally I got wise so I’d pull up in front of her house and apply a fresh layer of make-up, (using powdered rouge), and lipstick. Sure enough, if I was freshly made up she’d never remark on how sickly I looked. Sigh.
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