Last night’s waitress brought back a memory from over 50 years ago.
She had a wondrous set.
I was around ten years old when it finally dawned on me that I might not actually be the most beautiful child that had ever appeared on the planet.
I had an inkling of that reality a few years before, when I was in a play at the Girls’ Club where the little girls were divided into two groups – dolls and orphans (“Orphan Envy”). And I was an orphan.
But that was only the drama teacher’s opinion. Perhaps I was just not her type.
But I thought about it a lot over the next two years. I thought especially about the little girl (I think her name was Gloria) who had played the lead doll. She looked sort of like this:
Where as you may recall, I looked like this:
But the more I looked at the grown-ups around me, the less worried I became.
I knew from “Father Knows Best”, for example, that people got prettier as they got older. After all, Kathy Anderson looked like this:
Whereas, her sister Betty – who shared all the same genes, and I’m sure looked just like Kathy when she was a little kid – looked like this:
And I knew from watching my mother how that happened. I knew that as soon as I was old enough, and possessed some money, I could have blond curls just like Gloria – and I had every intention of having them. And I could have well-shaped eyebrows (instead of fuzzy-wuzzy caterpillars) as soon as I could figure out the tweezers. And I was already working on that.
And I was confident that the dark long eyelashes would come from the same place that pink cheeks and red lips came from.
Makeup is God’s gift to homely girls.
With lipstick and rouge (that’s what they called blusher back then) and mascara and tweezers and hair dye and perms and hairspray being the great equalizers, I knew I was just a few years away from being just as pretty as Gloria.
So that left Gloria with only one trait that I coveted.
I could acquire everything that Gloria had, except dimples.
But I was determined to get me some.
So every night for four months I went to bed with my fingers in my cheeks.
And it would have worked, I’m sure, if only I could have stayed awake longer. Or learned to sleep with my fingers in place.
Now that I am older and have gotten a good look at my husbands tool box, I see that what I really needed was a good set of calipers.
Just as well, though, because I have a feeling that when you get older those dimples can get pretty droopy.
Too bad, Gloria, that you now look a little like a basset hound, whereas my cheeks are still nice and smooth (and round).