We had, for some reason, a fairly regimented approach to makeup menarche in the Ortberg household. Permitted to get our ears pierced at or around the age of 12, which was coincidentally also the minimum age for baptism at church (I did both in the same year). Before that we used to play around with Mom’s Mary Kay compacts, although I’m fairly sure I was put on restriction after my best friend Nicole and I wasted half her lipsticks writing all over each other’s faces. Each year from roughly 11 to 14 a new item was unlocked, as if progressing through a video game. The first wasn’t strictly makeup at all – it was a pink powder puff my mom bought me from Nordstrom’s (Holy of Holies) that coughed glitter over one’s décolletage when lightly pressed against the collarbone.
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