The Lipstick Brigade

"Beauty hurts," my mother used to say.

Ha! As a barefoot young teen growing up on the beaches of Florida, that concept seemed ridiculous.

My idea of beautiful back then was a new tie-dyed shirt. Flip-flops that had that unforgettable "fresh-rubber" smell. Flourescent nail polish. A bottle of shampoo to take the green out of my chlorine-drenched hair.

But over the years I must admit that my mother's words have occasionally haunted me.

And anyone who has sat for hours with tightly-banded perm rods adhered to their scalp and endured the smelly chemical process that ultimately promised to produce the perfect curl knows just what I mean.

Still, except for a few enhancements to cover the, ahem, occasional gray hair, I have pretty much avoided the beauty-entrapments that lead women to cringe.

I've never had a bikini wax. Never had a tummy tuck. Don't pluck my eyebrows. Haven't gotten my belly button pierced.

I did have a facial years ago, but it was a home-brewed natural concoction made with overly ripe avocadoes from our tree. And it didn't hurt a bit. In fact, with a few tortilla chips, it would have been a tasty snack.

That's not to say that I've let personal grooming fall by the wayside. Especially during the campaign, I've made sure to faithfully wear my pantyhose and keep my high heels ready.

Of all things, it's the lipstick that got me in trouble.

Women understand the lipstick problem. You find the perfect color, you put it on and it looks incredible. Until you have a cup of coffee. By the time the mug is drained, there's more lipstick on the rim of the cup than on the lips.

But modern beauty scientists have fixed all that.

You see, their laboratories have invented a new kind of lipstick that stays on despite a swim in Lake Erie. It's really a stain, and boy does it work. I would paint that "Mocha Ice" color on first thing in the morning, and by golly, at midnight my lips still looked kissable.

But a couple of days ago, while applying the miracle pigment, my lips felt a bit tingly. Hmmm.

But who noticed? We were whizzing from one campaign event to another like the steel ball on a pin ball table.

Then I woke up yesterday morning. My lips were huge, swollen and distorted. They were numb and purple. It looked like bo-tox gone bad.

You know you're in trouble when the pharmacist moans when he sees you. Then chuckles.

For me, it was a day of antihistimines, chapstick and no talking. And for those of you who know me, or have seen me whooping at the Freedom Rallies, you know how tough that was.

Fortunately, my lips are back in service. I'll be right there with our Freedom Fighters at tomorrow's rally, and I'll be wooohoooing it like never before.

But in the end, mothers are usually right.

Beauty does, occasionally, hurt.