Monday, January 14, 2008

Just Another Painted Lady

I get into work at two minutes to nine. Something is missing. That flurry of activity preceding one of these meetings. No one seems to be in the meeting room. I glance around to see what the other HODs are doing. Nothing, seemingly.

I sidle over to Vincent, our head of marketing, who is placidly tapping away at his keyboard, either answering emails or checking out X-rated sites, and ask him about it. He says it's been postponed. And besides, today's meeting was supposed to be at 2.

Then he turns his quiet scrutiny on me and asks me if I'm feeling OK. Hmmm. I've just emerged from the gym and I'm supposed to be rosy and flushed. Apparently not. According to Vince, I look ill. (I'm thinking more upset than ill but we won't split straws here)

So I proceed to what is euphemistically known as the cloakroom to paper over my emotions; to acquire that smooth veneer which only make-up gives, swallowing lines and individuality so I emerge, more of the same, more of the same, more of the same.

Just another painted lady.


Nessa said...

Make up has always made me feel like I'm wearing a mask.

Jenn said...

Yeah, I love the idea of papering over my emotions...