Of Hollywood Glamour Girls and Homegrown Non-Glamour Girls by Molly MacDonald

Ink Spots

Aug 14
Of Hollywood Glamour Girls and Homegrown Non-Glamour Girls by Molly MacDonald via @scottmacnotes #makeup

Have you ever wondered how, in the movies, especially old ones, the heroine always wakes up in the morning with flawlessly applied makeup and not a hair out of place? Doris Day, for one, looked incredibly perky in every scene filmed of her, no matter if she was being chased down dark alleys by knife-wielding villains or climbing out of a murky river escaping from a vicious alligator. Or crocodile. Or something.

Okay, I’m not sure if those exact scenarios were part of her movie history, but you get my point: Hollywood isn’t real life.

In real life, some of us don’t arise fresh as the proverbial daisy from our slumbers. We don’t arise fresh at all. Rather, some of us look like death warmed over, sans lipstick, blush, mascara and about 59 other cosmetic touches designed to keep us from frightening small children.

Of course, there are some women who manage to look good without makeup. They are annoying. I hate most of them. A lot.

All this is leading up to my latest travel misadventure. Last week I went to a music festival in Brainerd, MN, to watch daughter Meg’s friend, Terri, as she rocked the house – okay, the field (it was an outdoor venue) – with her incredible singing. After the show, Terri went on to a performance in Wisconsin and Meg and I retired to our hotel. Next day, Meg flew back to Los Angeles and I motored home to Algona.

Without my face.

Of Hollywood Glamour Girls and Homegrown Non-Glamour Girls by Molly MacDonald via @scottmacnotes #makeup I have a little make-up bag which has imprinted on it, “This Bag Contains My Face.” Trouble is, I lost it somewhere in the hotel room. Coming home looking completely washed out was traumatic, even though the only one waiting for me was Ivy Scarlett, my German Shepherd/Husky mix.

She loves to lick my face and doesn’t seem to care whether there’s makeup on it or not. But I care. I suppose that makes me vain – who said, “Vanity, thy name is woman?” I think it might have been Shakespeare, so obviously I’m in good company.

Thankfully, three days later, my little bag arrived in the mail, beautifully packed in bubble wrap – the hotel person who did that had to be a woman. Probably an empathetic, slightly vain woman. Which made me feel much better. Don’t know why, exactly, but it just did.

If my trip to the music festival had been a Hollywood movie, I would have looked like Doris Day the whole time.


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