Way back when I was a small child of 6 ½ years old, I went into my parent’s bedroom to look for something to occupy my time, because I got bored playing with my toys.
Walking up to the dresser, I opened a drawer to discover my mother’s lipsticks and other cosmetics. I grabbed one of her lipsticks, removed the cap, and fiddled around with it until I figured out I had to twist the bottom to get the lipstick to come out.
I applied it to my lips, puckering them the way my mother did hers, went into the bathroom, stepped on the stool, and gazed at myself in the mirror.
“My how pretty I look, even though I didn’t exactly color in the lines,” I said excitedly to myself, while jumping down from the stool, nearly falling backwards, because my foot slipped. However, I caught my balance just in time.
I set the opened lipstick on top of my parent’s bed, getting lipstick stains on the comforter, resulting from my carelessness. However, I hadn’t yet noticed.
Next, I took my mothers mascara, opened it up, pulled out the brush, and smeared the black coloring all over my eyes, because at 6 ½ years old, I knew nothing about applying it or any other cosmetics correctly. I left it opened, and the mascara dried out, hardening on the brush. Like the lipstick, I put it on top of my parent’s bed where stains from it collected onto the comforter.
I sifted through my mother’s dresser drawer looking for some of her other cosmetics to try. I got a hold of her bronzing translucent powder, opened it up, getting the powder all over the place. The powder puff fell to the floor, leaving behind gobs of powder on the carpet. “No matter. Mommy can always vacuum it up,” I giggled to myself, while picking up the powder puff, dabbing it in the powder on the floor, and applied all over my face while closing my eyes.
Throwing the powder puff to the floor, I removed the container of blush from the dresser drawer and began applying it all over my face, because I didn’t know it was only used for lightly dusting the cheekbone area.
My mother’s cosmetics were all over my hands. I didn’t bother to go into the bathroom to wash them off. Instead, I went into my parents closet where I removed one of my mothers dresses from the hanger. I had to stand on the stool to do so. I ended up getting black, brown, and red stains all over the dress.
Unzipping it, I tried it on. Next, I put on a pair of my mothers high heeled shoes, ending up breaking off the heel on one of the shoes while walking around in the shoes.
“What in the world happened in here, and why are you wearing my dress and shoes?” My mother shrieked, while grabbing a hold of me, and spanking me in the rear. “Look at this mess. You’ve made a mess of everything in here,” she yelled, noticing the stains on the comforter left by her opened cosmetics I left on the bed, “What were you thinking by getting into my cosmetics? Look at the mess you’ve made. You’ve ruined my dress, and my shoes.”
“But you can always vacuum the carpet, and wash the comforter in the washing machine to get the stains out,” I cried, trying to break free from her grip on my arms, “I only wanted to see what I’d look like with your makeup, dress and shoes on. I was only trying to be you.”
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015