Make Me Beautiful

One afternoon, a very nice looking woman in the fifty age range came into the store.  She was griping about how the magazines tell her to not wear shimmery eye shadow because it will age her, but that all she found on the shelf was shimmery eye shadow.  I agreed with her, the majority of the eye shadows had some shimmer to them.  (Revlon had come out with a line of matte shadows that did not sell well in the drugstore market, and they were discontinued.)  But I also suggested that she wear whatever makes her feel beautiful and her response broke my heart.  "Nothing makes me feel beautiful."
Ok, we have all had days like that, I am sure.  I hope that this was one of those days for her.  Something told me that is wasn't just the day, but really was how she felt about herself.  During our interaction, she never smiled.  She was frustrated at the mixed signals that she got from the industry that should be helping her.  She was frustrated that I could not pull the magic elixir off the shelf.  I was frustrated that I couldn't help her either.  I could not, can not make someone see themselves as beautiful.  I can say it, but they have to believe it. 
When I look in the mirror, I see the flaws caused by too much sun.  My Aunt Rosanne warned me and I didn't listen.  I now put a little lemon juice on those spots and I am seeing them fade.  I am also putting a SPF on my face every day to try and protect what is left of my mother's genetic gift.  I also see the lines across my forehead.  They are more prominent at the hair salon, I suppose it is the lighting and the constant mirror staring.  I don't love these lines, but I definitely own them.  I don't think they are frown lines, I don't frown that often, but worry lines, perhaps.  I have had some cause to worry these past few years.  A little high quality face cream does seem to be doing the trick and the lines are fading slightly.  I read up on what tricks of trade will hide or highlight what I would like to hide and highlight.  With a little effort, I can leave the mirror looking pretty nice.  That is not what makes me beautiful though.
Beautiful is the smile I share with the struggling mom with the frustrated child that does not want to stay in the cart.  My smile (your smile) can go a long way to make her feel less judged and more able to cope with the matter at hand.  Beautiful is the look in my eyes when the elderly lady cannot find the perfect shade of coral lipstick.  (By the way, the perfect shade of coral lipstick is getting harder to find as the drugstore lines fazes them out for more youthful trends.  It is sad that the generation that really ignited the make up industry has been all but forgotten by them now.)   Beautiful is the time we take to listen with the ears decorated with diamond studs, huge loops or dangling snowmen.  Beautiful is the whole package and it really does come from the inside. 
Beautiful also seems to be the way a fella looks at his gal.  I am lucky enough to have a job that gives me a lot of interaction with the retired set.  So many of these couples are still so head over hills for each other and they look at each other with such love.  They also treat each other with such love.  I think that adds to the beauty of it all!  
Do I think I am beautiful?  Sometimes, sometimes not.  Sometimes I think I am pretty frickin ugly.   I tend to believe that pretty is only skin deep, but beautiful and ugly goes all the way in.