Show Up, Show Out

True to my word, I went out over the weekend, including two trips to the mall Saturday afternoon and my friend’s very fabulous 35th birthday party that evening. Do you know how refreshing it was to browse the mall the morning of an event, find the right accessories, and come home with bags in hand instead of waiting for packages to arrive? Can I tell you how comforting the white lights, Christmas carols, and din of chatter felt after 10 days in my house by myself? I didn’t even mind standing in line at Pandora to pick up my mother’s Christmas present.

And… I got my makeup done. Further proof that mandatory isolation fully radicalized me.

The makeup experience was actually…nice. The MUA at Sephora was an older woman who’d been doing makeup since the 80s (therefore trained before the days of “the beat”) and understood that I did not want a beat face. Just an even skin tone and subtle playing up of my natural features. She accomplished the goal of making me feel pretty without feeling “made up,” because the dress (moreso, my body in said dress) was the star of the show…

The party was just what I needed. I celebrated one of the most generous, spirited women in my life, sipped Jameson, twirled around the dancefloor for two rounds of the Tamia line dance, and got the “Damn, you look good” thumbs up from my favorite ex.

All in all, a successful first night back in the world.

Published by

a girl named rob

I used to be "skinny black girl." I'm now a slender woman on the other side of 35 with no new moniker who is not quite interested in writing under her given name. Still writing my life, a day (or some months) at a time. Also, still black.

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