How is the weather where you are? It’s wet and dreary here…and I love it. I absolutely love it when it rains and I’m indoors, nice and snug >insert smug face<, haha.
I’m really excited, because for the first time ever, I will be sharing an excerpt from my debut novel (coming soon) Good Girls don’t Put Out. If you’re curious about it, click here to read a brief summary. Please let me know what you think about the book cover. It was designed by yours truly and illustrated by an awesome illustrator, KennydesignsIT.
Okay, so last week I shared my worry over my children’s fascination with make-up. It’s interesting that my older daughter, Sophia’s fascination with make-up gave me an idea for a scene in the book. So a little back-story…
When Sophia was 2, we traveled to Southampton for a dear friend’s wedding and we were staying in a hotel. I had just finished applying my makeup and had gone to the en suite bathroom briefly to get something, leaving little Sophia by herself.
From the bathroom, I heard a high-pitched scream, you know the one, where you rush out, heart in mouth, expecting to see your precious jewel dangling from the 2nd floor window or being bundled in a burlap sack by a stranger with a gun or knife. It turns out Sophia had been trying to apply mascara and had stabbed herself in the eye. I’ve accidentally stabbed myself in the eye a few times and I know how badly mascara in the eye stings, even then, I could only imagine that it would be worse for a little baby.
The 10 year old protagonist in my book, like Sophia, learnt her lesson the hard way…enjoy:-)
What could I do to make him like me? He probably thought of me as his friend’s younger sister, maybe that’s why he wouldn’t let himself like me. Well, I would show him that I was not a baby; I could be grown up and sophisticated. I had a brilliant idea; I would give myself a makeover! By the time I was done, Josh would have to look at me differently.
I had watched my mom put make-up on a few times and I was sure I could do it so that afternoon I snuck into my parents’ room. My parents always locked their room door whenever they left the house but unknown to them we had a spare key. Usually my destination would be the little store room where they kept treats and other bits and bobs but I had a different mission in mind. I sat at my mom’s white Victorian style dressing table; I knew she kept her make-up in one of the drawers. I pulled open the first drawer, it was filled with an assortment of little sewing thread spoons and plastic tubs of pins, needles and buttons. I clicked my teeth and pushed it shut. “Nope,” I muttered. I tugged on the brass handle of the second drawer and rubbed my hands together, “Jackpot”. The drawer was filled with various shades of lipstick; Jasmine, moonlight blue, rose red, pink blush. I ran my fingers through them, reading off their labels, Yves st. Laurent and Lancôme mascaras, eye shadows, eye liners. I pulled off the lipstick caps, trying to choose the right colour. Best to go with the simplest option, I loved pink; it was my favourite colour. I found the right shade of pink lipstick and set it aside. My mom always did put on eye shadow first, so I rummaged for pink eye shadow and applied it to my eyelids, “So far, so good”, I thought, admiring myself in the oval vanity mirror. I decided on some pink lipstick to match the eye shadow, I applied it and pursed my lips, it didn’t look quite right so I went to get tissue paper from the en suite bathroom. I scrubbed my lips with them but my lips just looked bruised. I dampened some more tissue paper and scrubbed even harder but the tissue paper left a trail of white residue around my mouth so I washed it off with some water and dabbed around my mouth with the white towel hanging by the sink. When I was satisfied that my mouth looked normal, I went back to the dressing table to try the lip again, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t get the lipstick on without looking like a clown. “Who knew putting on lipstick could be so difficult?” I thought. I gave up on the lipstick, “hmm, what next?” I thought. “Ah, mascara,” I plucked out the wand and proceeded to give myself longer and more beautiful lashes.
A few minutes later, I heard the door to the room open slowly so I screwed the mascara shut and tidied up the table top; throwing the make-up back into the drawer and slamming it.
“I thought I heard someone in here,” Tayo, my sister, said, striding into the room like she was Sherlock Holmes. I turned to face her and she gasped.
“What did you do?” she exclaimed before she covered her mouth with her palm and chuckled. I knew I was a mess; I had managed to stab myself in the eye a few times with the mascara and my eyes were red and runny. They stung like crazy and I had to blink rapidly both in an effort to get the mascara out of my eyes and from the pain. The back of my hands were stained black from my futile attempts at rubbing the mascara out of my eyes.
“Help, please,” I pleaded as a tear slid down my face. I wiped it off with the back of my hand, smearing my cheek with black mascara paint in the process.
“Why would I do that?” she asked, walking into the store room and emerging with a packet of Okin (shortcake) biscuits and a 25ml bottle of Fanta. As she walked through the door, she stopped and turned back to me.
“Make sure you tidy up this mess and remember to lock up properly before mom and dad get back,” she arched an eyebrow and pointed a finger at me with the hand holding the biscuits. I nodded quietly, and when she was satisfied that I was going to do as I was told, my sister left me alone, humming to herself as she shut the door behind her.
I rushed to the bathroom to wash the make-up off my face. It took three attempts with a bar of my mom’s yellow bar soap and elbow grease to get my face looking less like a child’s workbook that has been scribbled on and erased too many times and more like the face I was used to.
“That is the last time I try to put make-up on because of a boy,” I swore to myself. I just had to find another way to get Josh to fall in love with me.1 by