He was a natural blond when young. Even later in life, he was a dirty blond — then mostly gray. But he had that light peachy skin that blushes easily. He blushed so easily it was fun poking at him to watch him blush.
He didn’t blush like a romantic hero. More like he turned red in the face, so anything that angered, frustrated, or otherwise upset him up showed up as a blush. When he was really angry, he got downright red.
I don’t think I’ve ever blushed. Too much yellow in my skin tone. Never had rosy cheeks, either. I’m just one of those pale people who can’t tan to save her life. Even sunburned, I don’t look rosy — I just look like you should pack me in ice and send me to a burn unit. The closest to tan I ever got was a sort of vaguely pale orange skin color that made Garry laugh at me. Being white isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.
Not being naturally rosy-cheeked, makeup was my go-to to achieve the rosiness of young womanhood. Back when I still wore makeup — mostly, back when I was also still working and looking “nice” had a lot to do with being taken seriously in the workplace — I had dozens of containers of “blush.”
None of them every looked quite right until eventually, I stumbled onto something that looked all wrong — it was a slightly purplish red liquid that you spread on your cheek bones — and suddenly, I had something like color in my face. No pink cheeks, though.
Apparently pink was not my color. I needed darker colors to counter the sallowness of my complexion.
I still have makeup. Not a lot. I don’t think when we get older makeup is flattering — or at least, not the kind of makeup I used to do. I’m sure there’s a different way to do makeup for an older face, but I’ve never learned it.
Unless we are partying a lot heartier than we are wont to do, I don’t bother with makeup. Unless I think I’m going to get photographed. Then I do just enough to keep from looking like a hag.
I should check to see if I have any usable makeup. It may have dried out.