The following conversation took place at our house about two weeks ago while Hannah was playing in my make-up.
Hannah: Mommy, I like this one with the sparkles.
Me: Me too!
Hannah: Lemme put some on you.
Hannah: (stepping back to check her work) This might not be your color…
For the last 15 years or so, my husband, his dad, grandpa and uncles have had an annual guys day out in which they eat greasy food and spend hours upon hours walking around a local convention center filled with motorcycles, motorcycle parts, gear, paraphernalia and experts who have made it their life goal to know every single thing about motorcycles.
That left us girls on our own for the evening so we decided to head over to the mall to walk around and eat at Chick-Fil-A.
I called my parents to see if they wanted to join us. My dad declined and it was a good thing because Hannah said that Papa wasn’t allowed to go “because he’s not a guuuurrl.”
We picked up my mom, ate dinner and stopped in a few stores. My mom wanted to check out the fragrance by Beyonce, who she kept calling, “Bee-Yonz.”
At first I didn’t have the heart to correct her.
So we found the Bee-Yonz fragrance in the department store and agreed that it is lovely and has a sweet, candy-like quality about it. She decided not to purchase it, so we continued browsing and sniffing at all of the perfume and makeup counters.
Before moving on from Bee-Yonz’s fragrance and glittery gold bag that is free with a purchase, a sweet lady wearing a smock approached us and asked if she could help. My mom started to tell her that we were just there to try the Bee-Yonz perfume, but I couldn’t let her.
I whispered, “Mom, it’s Bee-yon-say.”
“We were just looking at the Bee-Yon-SAAAY gift set.”
The smocked woman chatted us up a bit, asked us what kind of makeup we wore, showed us a few creams, eyeliners and whatnot.
The next thing I knew, Hannah was up in the chair and the smocked woman was applying pink lip gloss to her lips. Ever the girly girl, Hannah pointed to the big, fluffy blush brush.
“Will you tickle my cheeks with that?”
The smocked woman giggled and applied some blush to her cheeks. She asked my permission first, which was much appreciated.
“Will you get me a tissue so I can blot?”
The smocked woman, who by this time had become our smocked friend, roared with laughter and handed her a tissue. Hannah blotted her lips like she’s seen me do a thousand times, set the tissue on the counter, crossed her legs and smiled at me.
I think she may have aged 27 years in those few short moments.
So, yea. You’re right, sweet girl.
That might not have been my color.
But I think we found yours.