Each has its own blanket.
Mine, for example, against every possible imagination, is the mascara.
Without it, I feel a bit less me.
I can leave the heels at home and put on a pair of flats. I can tie the hair in a high ponytail. I can splash my face with the cold water, put a bit of moisturizer and nothing else is necessary. I may exit in a suit with converse on my feet. Leave in the tee I’ve slept, the large one and a bit worn-out, to fetch some coffee – which is like “mascara” in my kitchen. But no, I will not set the foot out of my house without the brush of it.
I can give up the clutch, the lines that it may, I am sure, go out of fashion this summer, the touch of the perfume and also the wine that beats with Swiss precision the beginnings of my evenings.
But not it.
Not the two coats of mascara on the lashes put on focusing my gaze against the mirror, pulling my chin just enough to take the aim. As long as my lashes do not come where I want them to arrive.
From that moment I may go on with my day.
And there, in the disk of Demak-up remover soaked and dirty black – my hours are enclosed.
Strictly black. Intense.
It’s my security blanket.
Without it my female soul feels a bit loner. And a little less dressed.
I hope you leave me a comment on your security blanked.
Of course if you wish to.