My mom was the woman who never went anywhere without first spending at least 30 minutes in front of one of those vanity mirrors with the adjustable lights. I remember sitting in front of it when I was a little girl, rotating the filters slowly to see how my appearance was affected as the lighting changed from lavender to mint green and finally to peach.

In my early 20s I was living with my mother and holding down an assortment of jobs while taking classes at the local junior college. There were a couple of different waitressing and bartending jobs mixed in during those years, and very often on a Saturday morning I would not get home until after 2 a.m. Later than that if I decided to go into Fort Worth or Arlington to spend all my tip money on Midori sours and tequila shots.

(Let me take a moment to say I do not advocate spending all one’s tip money on Midori sours and tequila shots. I am simply stating the facts. It was a different time, the late 80s… Also, Midori goes down like Koolaid. True story.)

On those Saturday mornings in the Mid-Cities, my mother was prone to make attempts to rouse me from my drunken stupor peaceful slumber by cheerily entering my room making suggestions of things I could be doing instead of drooling on my pillow and inhaling the hint of cigarette smoke clinging to the Aussie Sprunch Spray still crusted on my curls. At some point during our verbal exchange, she would inevitably mention that if I would simply get dressed and put on makeup, I would feel so much better. “Better”, of course, was a hugely subjective concept on most Saturday mornings. In her opinion, a perky lipstick and some mascara would do wonders for my disposition. In my opinion, I felt infinitely better in my sweats, under my comforter, horizontal, than I would in any number of ensembles while standing erect.

Today, as I was lying in my bed trying to will away my brain’s weak attempt at a headache, I suddenly entered a moment of inspiration and knew that I would not reach my goals this year if I didn’t GET THE HELL OUT OF BED! I threw back the blanket, startling my cat/personal heating pad, and set off to make ready to leave the house.

I stuffed a chicken and threw it in the crock pot, put a load of laundry in the washer, and set the delayed start on the dishwasher. Then, I gathered up my laptop and a couple of notebooks and left the house. As I drove down the street I glanced in the rear-view mirror and realized I hadn’t bothered to put on any makeup.

Now, something like 27 years have passed since I endured my mother’s Arlene Dahl-esque encouragement to put on makeup. Since that time I have decided that she was right – that on most days, I need a little mascara and lip gloss to feel complete. But since I was determined not to go back to the house, I encouraged myself to think that I probably wouldn’t see anyone I know at the coffee shop anyway. No big deal. My hair looks good. My clothes are clean. I’m wearing my new Chucks and my vintage sweater… no worries.

Imagine my surprise, then, when not one, not two, but FIVE fellow writers came in as I sat hunched over my laptop fiddling with my Spotify player. They were all sweet and pretended that they didn’t notice that I look like I could have just rolled in from a late night. They hugged, and chatted and we all laughed and they went on to the meeting they were here for. I can only assume they were thinking “Oh yeah, I remember those makeup-less days, poor dear.” It could have been a “there by the grace of god” moment for them, and they gave thanks for the presence of mind they had this morning that led them to apply foundation. Or, perhaps they are like me, unable to see details without their reading glasses. Either way… lesson learned. As my well-meaning mother taught me – I will not leave the house without makeup again.