It’s the swoosh of those strenuously long eyelashes that makes me go weak at the knees.
Always.
I know she is cute in so many ways, who better than me, her mother, to name them all, but most definitely the eyelashes are my weakness, maybe out of maternal pride (look at that Voguesque attribute that formed in MY uterus) or jealousy (I glob and glob and glob endless vats of mascara promising to deliver half her natural length.
I am lucky if I’ll get a third).
They get me every time.
“Pleease, mom, please”, she pleads in rhythm with her swoosh.
Each time those lids close I swear I am being fanned.
She clutches the bright white bag with psychedelic red, blue and yellow dots floating amongst its brazen “WONDER BREAD” inscription as if it where her most treasured American Girl doll.
I appeared shell shocked and just …Read on

Twelve-year old girls usually come in twos and I was no exception. Attached to my prepubescent hip was my all-time buddy and life long pal, Kim. Together we witnessed the first coveted signs of growing up: The Beloved Pimple (she got hers first), The First Dark Hair ANYWHERE (she got hers first) and of course, The Fateful Symbol of Utter Womanhood: any sign of a Boob (she got hers first (okay, so I was a rather late bloomer)). Even the illusion of the first signs of affection from a crooned-over unattainable boy like super cute Mark Decasola (to whom I readily handed over my much-coveted Venezuelan candy bar at lunch just for a flash of those amazing pearly whites) was done hand in hand. She always told me I was too good for him.Even though …Read on

She was of such stunning beauty that even the women around her stopped to gaze, or so I am told. Sweat beads formed along her clavicle and teased their way down her thin yellow cotton summer dress, but I did not notice. Her windblown jet black hair refused to be held behind her ears, and I am told, long, slender tan fingers insisted it do so, but I cannot confirm that either because I did not notice. Her eyes, encased by ridiculously long dark lashes held lookers captive with a warm moss green stare. But don’t quote me on that please because I did not notice.My male companion noticed, just as everyone else that walked into the tired lonely store on a forgotten street of Florence. It was a dusty, hot afternoon and our …Read on