Now that Eve is four years old, makeup is pretty much the only thing that matters. The pink, glittery, strawberry-scented kind. What Eve especially loves is putting makeup on me; apparently, I’m the only one that will put up with it for hours on end. Because here’s a secret: I LOVE IT, TOO. And so it’s become something of a routine when I go over to babysit: I pop in a Disney movie (this time, Alice in Wonderland), and fix my eyes on its Disney magic while Eve works her own magic on my face. She drags pastel pink and purple lipsticks across my lips and cheeks, paints body glitter across my nose and forehead, presses some purple eye shadow across my neck and jabs it into my eyes, and then finishes it all off with a face-puff full of glitter. The pièce de résistance… a tiara placed reverently on my head. I don’t think I need to tell you how fabulous I look at the end of it all. A) It’s redundant. B) I’m too humble.

Annnnyway, while trying to ignore the sensation of the teeth of a child’s tiara digging into my scalp, or the paste of glitters, shadows, glosses and gels hardening across the canvas that is my face, tonight Eve was schooling me in the importance of her favorite ingredient: glitter:

“I love glitter. I want to wear glitter every day of the week. I could just wear it Monday, Friday, Thursday, Saturday…. yes, we must wear glitter forever. And do you know what happens if we stop?

…We will die.”


That’s right, folks. Forget global warming. Forget 2012. Stock up on glitter.
Gah, the things I learn from four year olds. Their wisdom is infinite.

I’ve scrubbed my face a few times since arriving back home tonight. There are still some stubborn specks of sparkle across my forehead, but I suppose I’ll let those stay until morning. You know, just so I can rest easy knowing that I’ll live through the night.

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