A Day Without Make Up?

After seeing a story about a woman who went for an entire year without make up while living in a foreign country, not working outside the home, and having no professional obligations, except to be a Wife, "with a capital W," it occurred to me I should consider doing the same. Well, not move to Hong Kong, but go without make up. She, and others, claim that going without make up is freeing, you can be beautiful from the inside out, and your life will be more holistic. Sounded great to me, but before I plunged in for an entire 365 days, I thought I should try one day and see how it went. I have a day job, I'm not homeschooling children, nor am I a frontier woman with a vegetable patch who spins her own wool. I go to work, the grocery store, and I have a lot of professional contacts who might not think this is cool. The timing could not be more perfect. My husband was home recovering from major surgery and I was staying home with him.

Less time on beauty? Sure, let's take the plunge. I stocked up on herbal teas, spring water, a yoga mat--and I covered my mirrors. Herewith is my journal of My Day Without Make Up.

0700: Awake and stumble to bathroom. It's hard to brush your teeth with the mirror covered, but a small price to pay for a healthy life.

0730: Attempt to feed canned food to hissing cats who appear not to recognize me. Fine, eat your damn dry food.

0800: Dog snarls at me when I approach him. I turn my head, avoid eye contact, and put food in his dish. He avoids me the entire day by staying out in the yard, rolling on a dead squirrel. Or three.

0830: Husband asks where his wife is. When I say, "It's me!" he snorts and says, "Very funny. Tell her to get back in here."

0900: Husband requires band-aid to left hand from random flying pan. Poltergeist activity. Strange.

0930: Husband sits in the recliner front of TV and tells me to leave him alone.

1000: Mailman arrives at front door with certified mail. Refuses to give it to me until I provide my driver's license.

1100: Try to face time a friend. She won't take my call. Keeps telling me it's a wrong number.

1200: Try to Skype a colleague to go over a manuscript. She asks me if I have the flu. I tell her no, I'm going a day without make up. She laughs like a hyena.

1230: Herbal tea and water. I feel the toxins pouring out of my body. I lay on the yoga mat, do some breathing exercises.

1430: I wake up in a pool of drool and feel the yoga mat waffle imprint on my face. Time for more herbal tea and water.

1500: Hot shower with assorted loofahs, herbal soap, herbal shampoo and herbal conditioner. I smell like a head shop.

1630: Spring water with a splash of scotch. It's five o'clock somewhere.

1700: Scotch with a splash of spring water. It's whatever o'clock wherever.

1730: Who cares about dinner? I order take out. Pizza man grabs money and runs. No tip for him, ever again.

1900: Exhaustion overtakes me. I need to wash my face, prepare for bed--but not before I tear the paper off the mirrors.

1930: Police arrive at house. Neighbors heard screaming, thought someone was being murdered. Officer asks me if my grandchildren are around to help me with my son in the recliner.

2000: They gave me one phone call. I used it to call my hair stylist. Told her to bring her make up kit.

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