This far into widowhood, a year and a half, a widow’s expectations come alive once more. She believes that although life with the deceased is over, maybe, just maybe, all life is not. She looks around and sees happy couples her age and having another husband in the future doesn’t seem quite so impossible. The guilt which stalled her for so long has quieted. Her heart opens once more.
She longs for someone to hold her hand in the movies, or while walking through the neighborhood. A warm arm cuddling her is a sweet memory making her yearn to have a sweetheart pulling her close. A tender kiss seems a dream, far out of reach when she’s no longer a young nymph of a woman.
One day, she has no idea why, the thought occurs to her she should expect to be made part of a couple. She should expect she’s not some horrible creature men no longer find attractive.
Urgently she slathers anti-wrinkle cream on her neck, forehead and cheeks. Will it perform a miracle? A chuckle escapes. Oh, how foolish! No, the wrinkles will not magically disappear.
“I earned every one of those and I’ll be hanged if I’ll walk around ashamed of them,” she mumbles. “You don’t weather the storms of sixty-six years without chipping a little paint, or having to replace a couple of boards. You don’t have two children without a bit of sagging. Okay, Heidi Klum is a whole different creature. In fact, she may be from another planet. No one looks that good after having a baby.”
She tries different shades of lipstick, discarding each until only a ridiculous bright orange shade is left. Perfect! Guided with nervous fingers, the lipstick glides along the contours of her lips. She rubs her lips together to smooth the slightly bumpy cosmetic.
“I look like a clown without a circus. Maybe, maybe…”
She takes a watermelon pink and slides it over the bottom lip. Rubbing her lips together once more, she sees the color has toned down enough that she doesn’t resemble some harlot on a street corner.
“Why was I born with thin lips,” she moans. “Why couldn’t Angelina have loaned me a pound or two of hers?”
She removes the lipstick. Looking up into the mirror once more she sees plumper looking lips with just the right residue of color remaining. Sighing from this major achievement, she reaches for the lash lengthener, pauses and tosses it back in the drawer.
“That’s enough for today. I’ll save the next challenge for another time; maybe tomorrow.” She is pleased with the final lipstick effect.
She goes into the kitchen and pours a cup of coffee. She smiles at the ghost of an orange/pink bottom lip that appears on the lip of the cup. It’s been a good day.