Friday, February 26, 2010
No, I have not been branded a Scarlet Woman. Far from it. Not my thing.
But I have been branded. Literally.
I’m at that age when a woman glances in the mirror with a mixture of fascination and curiosity (and, okay, a hint of dismay) while observing life’s etchings upon her face.
And while I have no intention of pursuing any drastic measures to rid myself of this artwork, neither did I have any intention of contributing to it with my own hand.
But I did.
I burned my face with a curling iron. (Yes, I occasionally use hairstyling paraphernalia although my method of choice is wash and wear.) I’m now sporting a patch of brownish-pinkish skin just below my left cheekbone to complement my rosy red cheeks. Lovely.
And it’s the strangest thing. While I do hope the mark eventually disappears, I’m really not at all perturbed by the thought it might not. I wonder why?
Do I feel that as well as revealing my character through laugh and frown lines I should also display stupid lines?
Or have I finally come to that point in life where I just don’t give a damn as to the natural or self-inflicted wear and tear associated with my face and body?
Perhaps a bit of both. However, I do plan on being more alert and careful when using potential branding instruments. I shudder to think what I might do with hot electric rollers.
Photo credit: www.brandish.com