getting real

Sister From Another Mister

Our selves, our souls and bodies

Here’s an essay more than a year in the making.

This version of it could be titled: “Why I stopped wearing makeup during the Coronavirus.”

It’s not what you think.It’s not laziness.It’s not part of the slick new move where you dress only from the waist up for Zoom meetings and keep your pajama bottoms on for the entire day.

No.If anything, ten hours of Zoom meetings a day might lead to a greater emphasis on “putting on one’s face,” since that’s what we’re all looking at, now.

No. It’s not laziness.It’s not “I don’t care anymore.”

It’s age.

Yup.Age.

Eighteen months ago, I turned 60. (According to COVID-19 standards, I am now “elderly.”)

I didn’t mind turning 30 (I was busy having babies.)

I didn’t mind turning 40 (I was busy raising those babies.)

I didn’t even mind turning the legendary 50 (I was shin-deep in a new career.)

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