At five years old, she loved watching her Mom apply her makeup. Carefully applying powder, mascara and a smudge of smokey eye shadow. Mom was confident. Happy. As time went by, the makeup counter became bare. The voices raised in the other room got louder. Dad was coming home late and sometimes not at all.
At the age of twelve, she overheard Dad's raised voice telling Mom she needed to stop wearing makeup...that she looked like a "painted lady". Instantly her 12-year-old mind could visualize a beautiful lady in a painting in a museum on display, but this vision was quickly interrupted by Mom's crestfallen expression. Pain was all over her face. Later, in private, her Mom softly confided that Dad believed women who wear makeup were trash. Sluts. Over time, the little girl became numb to the crying, secretly wishing her Mom could just please her Dad, do as he wanted and throw out her makeup.
Teen years were full of rebellion once Dad left. The now teen aged girl enjoyed patting her face delicately with powder just the way her Mom always did. Taking extra care needed to have no clumps in her mascara. It had to be applied evenly. Shading the shadow on her eyelids just right. Perfectly. Looking into the mirror she would smile. She was happy and confident.