A Little Bit of Ivey. Lorelei JD Branam
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we were supposed to get married in birth order one after the other, you know, like first Lucy then Ivey, then me, then Rosemary, but oh no. No. No. No! Our family order is Lucy, Ivey, Ivey, Ivey. This has got to stop. I don't even want to get married now, but if I did there would be no time because we are all tied up, going to Ivey's weddings! You need to talk to her!"
Lorraine continues, flipping her long chestnut hair with each wave of her hand, emoting like a cartoon character. We are so obviously sisters. But don't tell her that. It makes her mad.
After mother’s knee replacement, a few years back, Lorraine was drafted to run errands and do odd jobs for Mother. Lorraine decided to forgo the full makeup routine for waiting in line at the post office and picking up prescriptions.
Just before running into the grocery store, Lorraine looks in the mirror and decides a little makeup is needed. She dots both of her under eyes with whitish concealer. Carefully, she creates a crescent from one side to the opposite corner of each eye.
Typical for both of us sisters, in a heartbeat she gets distracted and forgets to blend it in. The white semi-circles dry exactly where she placed them, beneath her eyes. Then she proceeds to shop under the harsh fluorescent lights in the grocery store. As Lorraine walked the aisles of the grocery store she was getting aggravated by all the puzzled looks from strangers. It wasn't until she walked through Mom's front door, bags in hand, that she got a clue as to why the other shoppers were staring. As we all know, Mother does not mince her words.
"Lorraine, I appreciate your help so very much, but you look ridiculous. What are you wearing? Is that a shirt or a necklace? And go look in the mirror—there is something wrong with your makeup."
Last night Bond and I spent the evening at an exclusive club. Smoky lights morphed their colors, while masked silhouettes fuel the imagination, and sexy tunes play a steady beat. Shortly after arriving, Bond went to buy cigars, and I freshen up my kisser.
I pop a mint. Searching high and low through my bag, it seems I left my personal mirror at home. The way I figure it, I have been putting on makeup for well over thirty years, so I should be able to fix my lipstick in the dark without a mirror, no problem, and I go for it.
The dim club lighting makes it impossible to see much but I feel for my slim, rosy lip pencil, and find it in the bottom of my bag. Then as carefully as possible, I smooth the color along the rim of my lips, following the natural edges of my mouth. After lining them, I fill the middle with a shimmery gloss.
Three hours later I looked in the mirror after arriving home and turned to Bond while uttering in disbelief, and stare. What is wrong with him! I did not have a mirror all night, but he was looking right at me.
"What?" He says, made instantly defensive by the scowl in my eyes. So I stand and stare at him longer, because even in the bright clear lights of our kitchen, he still doesn’t see it! Turns out, I had carefully lined my lips with a brown eyebrow pencil.
I thought people were staring because I looked hot.
Wrong again.
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