All Dressed Up with No Place to Go

Lily is girly to the nth degree. She loves dancing ("Mama, look at my arabesque!"), pink and MAKEUP. She is forever wanting to play what she used to call "doctor," which entails hauling out my hair and make-up boxes, and giving me (and her) a make-over. Twice now, hours after one of these so-called make-overs, I've neglected to wash my face and people have come to the house (the pizza man and my friend Elizabeth) who surely thought I was deranged or drunk. Phil will return home hours later and say something enlightening like, "Your makeup looks funny" or "Your lipstick is a little smudged," and I'll cover my face with my hands and say, "Oh, noooo!"