I’ve never been big on makeup. I’m married to a man who has been known to want to take his thumbs to women’s eyelids when they are heavy with eye shadow. So my policy has always been “subtle.”

Young skin doesn’t need a lot of cover up. But I do recall the day I caved in and wore makeup to work. I don’t remember the exact date, but it was twenty-some years ago. I do remember the outfit I wore that day. (If I ever run out of topics for this blog, I can list in detail what I wore on similar important occasions in my life.)

Back then, and for many years thereafter, once I had a hint of a tan, I happily took the summer off from makeup. But a couple of summers ago, I had to stop those makeup time-outs at work because sunscreen was effectively preventing any tan.

However, I was still able to hold out on weekends year-round, at least during the day. I didn’t think the checkout person at the supermarket or the shoemaker cared about my pale complexion.

All of that changed yesterday morning when I looked into the mirror before leaving to run some errands. I didn’t like what looked back at me. So, I picked up the tube of tinted moisturizer. Not for the checkout person, not for Peter.

For me.