Fixing the Face

Another evening shift at the funny farm awaits. Soon I must be getting ready to head down 385 toward town. I dare not go to work without a shower immediately before I leave, because we work in such close proximity to each other, often sliding through tight spaces shoulder to shoulder and fanny to fanny in a cramped room. And for many years, I have been improving the look that nature gave me into a more presentable sight, via make-up, before I leave home. Though it is ritual to some extent, I also enjoy watching the transformation as I put on my face, as my mother called it. A woman thing no less. One day last week, the day I took my car to the garage and stopped by the bread store, I boldly experimented with going out sans the face. I felt awful, bare, ugly, old and exposed and don't want to do it again. I can do without the mascara but decidedly need the rest. Last night, after a busy shift, when I got home looked in the mirror, I saw that any attempt at prettying myself up nine hours earlier was all gone. I find that the older I get, the longer it takes to fix myself up and the shorter the look stays. Such is life . . .