I'm a plain girl. My hubby married me because of that. I could drive his Ford truck with four on the floor, no prob. When I met him he had a bunch of old suede that he'd used for something years before. He thought I should make some clothes out of it for myself. The first gift he gave me was a spoon ring. That's how he saw me - in suede, driving his Ford "Dog" wearing a spoon ring. But anyway, you get the idea. (By the way, the suede thing didn't happen and I conked him on the head real good for the spoon ring. Especially because, even though we'd only just met, I was hoping it was a diamond when I saw the box. So, imagine my disappointment when...I mean, I'm plain, but I'm not a table.)
My hubby is not into frou-frou. He doesn't want fluff and whispies. He doesn't like big hair and make-up. Anything "loud" disturbs him. And his family knows it too. His sister is still a tom-boy at 46 and he has two older brothers who did not marry frail girlie-girls. We're all a bit more Mary Ann than Ginger or for Heaven's sake, Lovey Howell.
But alas, we women all do tend to have friends who are Mary Kay salesladies at one time or another, don't we? I did anyway. And mine invited me to a Glamour Shot night at one of her meetings. I brought along a friend. Why did I agree to do something so giddy and silly? I have no idea. This was years ago - I must have really needed a night out. Maybe my Mary Kay lady talked me into it somehow, told me she'd withhold my bonus eyelash curler in my next gift bag, I don't know. So my friend and I went, snickering and chuckling all the way. Don't get me wrong, I could use some lessons on make-up application because my goal in applying make-up is simple and basically encompasses this theme: Do not let anyone know you're wearing make-up.
We put on all the make-up according to group direction. The blush from top to bottom, the eye liner only 2/3rds of the way across, the lip liner yada yada yada...We had our hair professionally styled. We were whisked into the costume room to pick out just the right jewelry and stoles. And we laughed, we snickered, we winked at each other and said, Dahhling. Then we sat for the photo. I'll get back to the hideous photo later. First I'll set the stage for the evil thing I did with it.
It was Christmas. We were married with one child. We were spending the holiday out in Indiana with his family. So they were all there, gathered round, Christmas Eve, when they open gifts. Mother in law has a rule. Even though there are umpteen of us in the family, everyone has to stop and watch each and every person open his gift. "Ooo. Aaaa. Oh my gosh, how cool." Then move on. I had framed my lovely picture and wrapped it for my love. And I told his family secretly that I was giving him a horrible picture of myself, that it was a joke and not to tell him.
Then the moment came for Stan to open his gift from me. Everyone quieted and watched. He opened it and held it close to his chest. His face dropped ever so slightly, but he was trying to be brave. Through his mind raced all the possibilities and I could see them all passing frightfully across his eyes. Fawn over my glamorous and unbelievable beauty to please me, stuff it back into the box and hope that no one saw him open it to please himself, burst into laughter and roll over on the rug while showing it to the room full of faces staring at him. But he did none of these things. He stared at it and his eyes began to tear up, he smiled painfully, he sat there perplexed, upset, stymied, in a state of suspended animation, you might say. I realized that my joke had put him in perhaps one of the most horrifying predictaments of his life and I began to pity him.
Meanwhile, everyone said, "OOOH! Let us see it! What is it? Stan, show us! Turn it around!" The poor guy kept it clutched in his hands, drawing it closer and closer to his chest. Finally I had to break the frozen tundra that had become his insides. I told him it was a joke and that everyone knew about it. He softened, he wiped a tear or two from his cheek bone, and then he -still very reluctantly - passed the picture on to others in the room.
And now, stupidly and unbelievably, I'm passing it on to you. It's horrible, I know that. It's embarrassing, very. But it's so darn funny. I do hope Stan can survive another showing.
But can you?