Now that a month has passed, I laugh about my recent high school reunion. It was a weekend affair in Pittsburgh, PA. On the Thursday before, I had gone to Dillard's to pick up some Derma blend since my jaw was still swollen and purple from dental work. The clerk didn't have my shade. I was talked into a Chanel product. I use Chanel foundation and needed some, anyway. The bored clerk offered to "do my face." I had time, but warned that I can't tolerate oils. I wasn't impressed with the way I looked when she finished. I didn't look in a mirror again until I got home that evening.

I found that I didn't need headlights on my car to get home- my face glowed with oil. The clerk's "day and night, go everywhere" moisturizer had my face blotchy and broken out. Next day, I slinked, sans ANY makeup, into the Marriott Hotel; was assured by the front desk that the feather pillows I had asked to be substituted, would be Dacron not foam. At three AM I awoke, wheezing. Fortunately, had an inhaler and antihistamine with me. I struggled through the night with my whipped lash neck (another tale!) and no pillows. I whipped off a pillow case. "Genuine Down"  I waited an hour the next morning before going to breakfast, until my eyes were no longer narrow slits. Although my face was puffy, my eyes squinty with dark rings below (and stayed that way until Monday when I was safely home) the blotches and purple were receding.

I cringed every time my picture was taken at that reunion, even though I wore makeup for the Saturday formal affair. All I could think of was my hairdresser's assurance when I had my hair cut two weeks before. I told her that the top layer of hair, from when she layered my hair, the time before, kept flopping in my face. I asked to leave that piece longer since I wanted to look good for my HS reunion, which considering the weight I had packed on would be challenging. "Don't worry. People will be too busy checking out the beauty queen to see how terrible she looks." I grumbled, "That was me."