Make me gorgeous

With spring arriving and everything needing a cleanup, I think why not me too, why not a make-over, though cosmetic wands in my house collect more dust than old twigs in my yard. I’ve never had a successful eyeliner outing since learning in college I was allergic to the stuff, all of it, every last paraben and perfume.

With shadows in one hand and shimmers in another, I would sit in cold offices with itchy, dilated pupils and swollen skin, awaiting the dreaded diagnosis from a string of heartless doctors: Get over it, you’re allergic, accept what God gave you, however little it is.

I started freshman year glam in mascara. I ended it, facially-speaking, bare naked.

What’s worse for a college freshman than looking just like herself?

Since then, there hasn’t been a Maybelline or a Clinique that’s gotten me out of the house for more than a few hours without tears and headaches.

Yet, who knows? With science saying every cell in the body has a finite life span, maybe this is my time to become Jessica Biel or even Taraji Henson, my time to shine.

I mention the two actresses because their eyes were to die for at the Oscars, meaning their eyes almost killed them that very night. Beil wore a throw-back Elizabeth Taylor Cleopatra look, so much black liner she looked as if she’d been entombed in Egypt and painted. Henson, the “Hidden Figures” star, could hardly see over her false eyelashes; she peered from helmeted lids like one of her movie astronauts.

Did they both look glam? Sure. Could they do essential tasks like blink and focus? I doubt it.