April 25, 2020 Blog #8
Fourteen years and three days ago I woke up, took a shower, and put on some Avon liquid foundation titled something like “Ivory” or “Nude” or “Bisque” (like the soup)? This was significant because up until that point, I had only worn foundation when I went to proms in high school (so seven times: four at my school (freshmen and sophomores were not only allowed to go to prom in our town but encouraged – due to our sparse enrollment – and also, I’m a fan of the parentheses within parentheses), and three as a date at rival schools). I also wore foundation for two of my cousins’ weddings that I was in, and possibly high school graduation? Approximately ten times had I applied liquid foundation, thus the significance.
It was a day that apparently goes right up there with high school proms and graduation, (based on makeup application): my wedding day.
Memories surrounding the morning of my wedding are quite vivid. I was diligent about patting my face dry after the shower, and then immediately applying lotion so no icky dry patches would have a chance to form. Next, it was time for the foundation. That was as far as I trusted myself, makeup-wise, at that point. So I buttoned up a plaid shirt (button-ups were key when getting a fancy “updo” at the salon), pulled on some Rocky Mountain College Battlin’ Bear sweats, and joined my bridesmaids at the hair salon Nail-issimo for Phase Two.
Ten of my girlfriends and I spent a few hours that morning enjoying getting our hair done and doing each others’ nails. When my hair was finished, the stylist (one of my best friend’s sisters) applied all the other fancy makeup items like eyeliner, lip liner, lipstick, rouge, blah de blah de blah. All the things.
When I was released from the chair, I excitedly walked over to my bridesmaids. We needed to rush to the church (I was pushing the schedule to the last minute, per usual), but I still remember the looks on my friends’ faces. I believe one said – God bless the honesty of true friends – that I looked a little like what Julia Roberts was in Pretty Woman. I heard what she said, but there was just no time left.
Fast forward to me receiving and reviewing the photo proofs album. (It should be noted that our wedding happened about five months before Facebook became open to the public, and most people had flip phones – if phones at all – so this was weeks (months?) post-wedding, and I had not seen any wedding pictures.)
When I looked at the first picture and saw the gold shininess shimmering below my eyebrows my mouth fell open. My friends had warned me. Why hadn’t I done something? Looked in a mirror, perhaps? Why hadn’t I wiped off the golden shininess, for the love?!
Why is this story significant, fourteen plus years after the fact? When my husband Jeremy and I had our quarantine anniversary dinner date three nights ago (we picked up dinner to-go at a local restaurant and ate at one of the tables at our church), we reminisced. We reminisced about the five states where we have lived together (Montana, Texas, Illinois, Virginia, South Dakota) and about all the amazing people and powerful experiences we have had. We reminisced about our wedding day. I read Jer my journal entries of the days leading up to the wedding, and then I told him how I felt about the makeup. And this is what makes the story significant:
Number one: Jeremy only remembers how beautiful he thought I looked that day, and he still thinks the pictures are just as beautiful.
Number two: Even though I suspected the makeup was maybe a bit much for me and my style (I have probably worn foundation not many more than a couple dozen times since our wedding), the point is: I did not care. After reminiscing about that day and reading my journal entries during that time, I did not care about my makeup. The only thing I cared about was that I was going to finally be able to marry Jeremy Michael. Nothing else mattered.
Number three: Surely there has got to be some inspiring takeaway from this story. . . Love is all you need? What’s underneath the golden shininess you sometimes put on? Don’t call me Shirley?
Here I go, a-rambling. What did this story make you think about? Blog ya later.
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