Not far from our neighborhood is an American-styled drugstore
-- supersized with large roomy aisles, wide enough for two-
way stroller traffic, well stocked pharmaceuticals,
wonderfully cool air conditioning, and an amazing selection
of soaps, vitamins, toothpastes. You get the picture.
I've even taken the children on outings there during the
summer. Everyone puts their hands behind their backs so as
not to be tempted to touch and we go up and down the aisles,
marveling at the vast variety of products, as well as
commenting on the differences in prices from the store in our
neighborhood. Plus enjoying that wonderfully cool air
conditioning. We make a nominal purchase and call it a
day.
This particular day, I had dashed in to make a quick
purchase, sans my children. That's when I noticed a closed-
off section near the back of the store with a sign: "For
Women Only." I pushed open the door, curiosity overwhelmingly
piqued.
My eyes immediately riveted to the cosmetics and perfumes
before me. Within seconds, the saleswoman pounced.
"I know exactly what you need!" she crowed. (You do? I
wondered in bewilderment.)
Before I knew it, she had pulled several bottles of lotions,
creams, lipsticks, eye shadows, and other items I didn't even
recognize, from the shelves around her and from under the
counter.
"Your skin is alright," she conceded with good business
acumen, "but you don't take care of it properly. Now just
start using this sunscreen, and that moisturizer, this
cleanser, and that rejuvenator, plus this color eye shadow to
bring out the blue of your eyes more, this color rouge
(etc.)... and then you'll really look decent!" (I look
indecent now?)
Along with the dazzling array of products, a flowing
commentary of how to use each one, how often to apply it, and
how much/little I'd have to pay for such a beauty regimen
sprang from her lips.
With the seemingly endless spring of her commentary still
sailing along, my thoughts gushed along as well: my oldest
daughter just got braces, one of my sons has bi-weekly
tutoring, and two more children are due to be fitted for
glasses tomorrow, among the usual expenses of food, tuition
and utilities.
Sorry lady, but I have other priorities.
On the way home, after splurging on a bar of soap for 2.25
N.S., I reflected on the encounter. Yes, I do have other
priorities, and not just financial. I am NOT a twenty-year-
old (or even a thirty-year-old, but let's not get into that).
I don't LOOK like I'm twenty years old, nor do I have the
money, time, or driving ambition to look it, either. The
secular saleswoman was pleasant (though shall we say,
energetic, but hey, she's doing her job), but she and I have
very different goals in life. One of her society ideals is to
look stunning. To be noticed by one and all. To look
perpetually young/ageless.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not advocating that one neglect
one's appearance or health, never spend money on oneself, or
ruin one's sholom bayis by not making the effort to
look attractive. Rather, it's a matter of outlook and
effort.
Of course, we all have to look neat, clean, modest and
presentable, but I just question how much we have to put in
and what are the results we are trying to achieve. Not
to mention the natural, intrinsic beauty of women living in a
Torah society! Sometimes I feel it's a pity to cover over
that beauty.
Each person's circumstances are individual. Someone whose
husband wants her to put in the effort, should always do as
he wishes. Someone who has a teenage girl who will be `so
embarrassed' if their mother attends a PTA meeting without
upgrading her regular apparel also may want to take her
daughter's feelings into consideration. But, all in all,
we're not looking to turn heads as we walk down the
street!
For me, the battle to look like a twenty-year-old all of my
life is a losing one. I'm old enough to be a [young]
grandmother now, so it happens that when I go to one of my
children's kindergarten parties, I may likely be the oldest
mother there [and look it...]. Okay, I feel a twinge, but I
tell myself, "This is a reminder that I need to work on the
beauty of my neshoma." So I look for ways to implement
this thought, like bringing a cup of soda to one of the other
mothers, complimenting the teacher on her creative projects,
telling the mother sitting next to me how well-behaved her
daughter was when she came over to play yesterday.
Chessed is true beauty, the inner beauty expressed --
and that's the kind that lasts forever.
