Cosmetic: (n) a preparation for beautifying the face, skin, hair, nails, etc.
I have an odd face.
Not odd in the sense of grotesque, but rather unusual.
I don’t have eyebrows. It’s like the plans were drawn for some, but apparently there was some problem with the shipment.
My ears pin back to my head. I know that normally ears are a problem because they stick out, but mine could certainly be a bit more assertive.
My nose is small for such a big face.
And as I’ve grown older, I’m not so concerned with wrinkles as I am with little discolorations—marks that appear, changing my countenance from smooth to sometimes resembling the surface of the moon.
I have two such places. One is in the middle of my left cheek. It appears to be some sort of wart. It is tiny, which makes it even more annoying. Then, near my left eye, I have a very light brown age spot.
I realize this is not of much interest to you. (Matter of fact, I may be writing this sentence to no readership.)
But the point is, I want to take those two tiny mars and use cosmetics to cover them up, so that my face looks like a moon pie instead of the cratered dark side.
It is vain.
It is the last thing I do in the morning—before coming out of my room, I grab a simple cover stick and touch those two parts with coloration until they disappear.
I’m not so sure it makes me look younger—but it does make me feel younger.
Or maybe just immature and childish.