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Christmas Party
Staring into the mirror, my fingers caressed my face. I wanted the spider-leg lashes and powdered cheeks, like syrupy frostings on a Christmas cake. I dreamed of hearing “You look sooo pretty” from phony admirers.
Thump. A package from the cosmetic website arrived at the doorstep. I smuggled it to my room, preventing potential family conflicts.
Camouflaging my face with paints, a hideous hag arose. Imagining people finally referring me as “gorgeous”, I sneaked out readily for the Christmas party.
“Are you wearing makeup?” my mom inquired.
I hurried my steps.
“Come back. You forgot to blend in the blush!”
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I recounted my first experience of covering my face with makeup like what other kids did back in middle school.