A trick of the light

I treated myself to a facial. 

A fancy one.

An expensive one. 

My skin had been a little bumpy and the space between my eyebrows had grown a little course, in recent years.  As if I'd been in the sun a bit too long.

I also had my brows and lashes tinted, because in my old age, I can't stand to wear makeup, it feels too uncomfortable.

So I have them tinted with vegetable dye every four weeks or so, so I don't look too washed out. 

It is the one thing I sort of keep up with. 

I'm usually cheap as hell with myself, but I decided to splurge.

I don't know if I look any better, but I feel a little less haggard, so I suppose it was money well spent.

I came home and Mark was making noodles and frying lebekase.

Rolf had set the table and even remembered to put a hotpad out. 

Farfala

Bowtie pasta

They had washed the dog and applied flea medicine. 

"you guys hardly need me anymore!"

"Daddy is making NOODLES!" 

I make noodles all the time, but I don't get that kind of reaction.

"You look nice, mom", Maxwell said, because he is Maxwell and knows who butters his bread. 

I look a little blotchy, and my nose is a little red from vigorous scrubbing, but I will take it.

I'm working with a bunch of women that are more made up than the social activist,hippies I typically work with. 
I feel chronically under-dressed, yet completely unmotivated to change it.

I just slog around in my usual state of unkemptness as if it's the most usual thing in the world, which it is for me.