By: Angela Gillaspie © November 2002

Preparing for my 20^th high school reunion was a learning experience. I'm a very casual person and it's been a decade since I dressed up for a formal event; I've almost forgotten how to 'Paint the Barn,' as Granny used to say.

"Well, I'd better paint the barn before church," she'd groan as she slathered on near-white makeup, rubbed on bright red rouge and lipstick, and spit into a small black cake that she'd use for both eye liner and mascara. The last step was to put on her ear bobs.

The morning of my reunion, my younger and much more hip sister, Traci, asked to see what I planned on wearing. I trust her judgement. She goes out in public every day looking like a million bucks, whereas I go out in public once every three months (or so) looking like forty-seven cents.

I showed her my elegant black spaghetti-strapped dress with a beaded and sequined jacket, fake pearl necklace, gold tone earrings, nude support hose, and black pumps. Chewing her lip, she said, "The clothes are great, but you need a silver necklace and matching earrings."

We had a silver necklace, but no ear bobs. So, Traci and I set off on a clip-on shopping trip. Our first stop was the Dollar General Store. There weren't any earrings, but I found a great sale-priced necklace with the word "CUTIE" written in rhinestones and bought it.

The next store we visited was also out of earrings. The salesclerk offered me some advice, "Last week one of my friends forgot to put on her earrings, so she grabbed a magazine and scissors and ran to the bathroom. She cut diamond earrings from the magazine and taped them to her ears. They were the purtiest things I ever saw."

Hey, I could just cut a couple of diamond shapes from duct tape and stick them to my ears! Traci didn't think the silver shade of the duct tape would match my outfit, so we went to another store and hit the ear bob jackpot. There was a pair of rhinestone "CUTIE" earrings to match my necklace, but priced at $4.50, they cost too much. We pawed through several racks and bins and finally found the perfect pair of earrings, on sale for $1.50!

As soon as we arrived home, I jumped in the shower. I had a scant two hours to paint the barn. I dried off from my shower, wrapped my hair in a towel and borrowed one of Momma's floral moo-moos. Traci met me in the spare bedroom and I dumped out my meager handful of cosmetics on the bed.

"That's it? Please tell me you don't have any of that spit-mascara Granny used to wear! Is this the eye shadow I gave you four Christmases ago?" she asked. I shrugged, afraid to say anything.

Momma overheard and came to the rescue. She lugged in her ten-pound tackle box containing creams, foams, cakes, sprays, liquids, powders, sandpaper, masking tape, putties, gels, primers, spackling compound, caulk, and rubber cement. Traci rummaged through the bottles and asked, "Is this all you got?"

Momma ran out and then brought a shoebox filled with more goodies. Fishing a bottle from the shoebox, Traci shook it, opened it, stuck in her finger, and rubbed some on my cheek, "Not bad - it matches your skin tone. Here put this on."

I took the bottle, shook out a small puddle in my palm, and rubbed it over my face. I reckon you'd call this the base coat of primer for the barn.

Next, Traci helped me outline my eyes and fill in the color with some of Momma's charcoal-colored eye shadow. I looked like a combination between a vampire and a raccoon, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Under Traci's watchful eye, I brushed on some blush, lined my lips, and applied gobs of non-spit mascara. Finishing with lipstick, I grinned at the stunning creature staring back at me in the mirror, "Will it crack or peel if I smile?"

She scowled, "You're so weird. Go fix your hair and get dressed - you're running out of time."

By this time, my husband decided to pry himself from the football game and take a shower. I was afraid my face would melt in the steamy bathroom, so I waited until he got out. We met in the doorway, his eyes first went to my face, then to the towel on my head, and then to Momma's floral moo-moo, "Nice. All you need are some pink curlers and you'd be ready to go shopping at Walmart."

Taking that as a compliment (he really likes Walmart), I smiled and dried my hair, curled my bangs, brushed my hair, and then got dressed. I put on my CUTIE necklace, earrings, and curtsied in front of Traci, "Well?"

"Your hair - it's too flat - and lose the necklace" she said, and instructed me how to spray, curl the ends, spray, brush, flip my head upside down, and spray my hair again.

Dizzy, I looked in the mirror and thought my hair was trying to escape my head. Gingerly touching my hair, I asked, "Will I hurt anyone with the pointy ends?"

"Here, put on some perfume," she said ignoring me. Momma offered four or five of her favorite fragrances. I chose one, and started to rub it on my wrists. Momma moaned, "No honey, you're supposed to DAB it, not rub it!"

My son walked in and gaped, "Momma you look good, but you smell funny."

"Yeah," my husband leered, "and lose the CUTIE necklace. Cute is for puppies and snotty toddlers. You're ... ahh ... glamorous."

Glamorous? Well, I don't know about that, but decked out in $1.50 ear bobs, spit-less makeup, carefully dabbed perfume, and CUTIE necklace, I fell somewhere in between Britney Spears and Phyllis Diller. Not bad for someone who forgot how to paint the barn.

Stay tuned for more SouthernAngel's painted-on stories!