I caught up with one of my longtime friends after several years–okay, it was at least a decade, and he said the nicest thing, “You look just the same. Do you thank your mama every time you look at that pretty face in the mirror? You haven’t aged at all since I met you.”
We met 20 years ago, so maybe he’s nearly blind at his advanced age, or maybe he’s just a smooth operator with a pocket full of compliments that get thrown out like parade candy. Or maybe ISO Pretty.
This is what goes thru my head while I’m playing makeup artist and dressing in the morning. I mix the foundation with some darker, tinted moisturizer to achieve the slightly darker “tan” shade I acquired this summer, apply it to cover various imperfections, and think my friends are blind, crazy liars.
I love them anyway.
I think about DNA and DAR. The Declaration of Independance states that “all men are created equal,” but anybody who ever played basketball against Michael Jordan or Karl Malone can tell you that’s just
bullsh*t baloney. We are equal under the law, but genetics don’t give a damn.
People that know me well ask me about the fabric on the shelves of my craft room. They ask, “What are you doing with that fabric?”
I’m doing exactly what my mitochondrial memory makes me do: buy cloth and put it on the shelf. Not only did my mama contribute to my healthy, glowing skin, she passed on the “fabric collecting” gene.
When I saw those materials, I saw completed projects in my head. I do that all the time and thought that everybody else did, too. My cousin frequently posts pictures of the beautiful wreaths, bows, and other crafty things she makes.
Maybe my family has been blessed with creativity in textiles to make up for our (my) musical deficiencies.
The nature versus nurture debate has been around a long time. While I do everything in my power to prevent aging and wrinkles and high cholesterol, there are some things that are hardwired from the beginning and are highly unlikely to change.
So, instead of blaming my DNA donors for the bad eyes, big thighs, and straight hair, I’d like to thank them for all the good things I got, which are too many to be named without making my readers jealous of how awesome I am.
My kids can thank me for their curvy pinkie toes, which is about the only physical characteristic they share with me. But, I love them anyway.