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8 Kislev 5763 - November 13, 2002 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family


Over-the-Counter Encounters
by Chana Leah Goldman

Not far from our neighborhood is an American-styled drugstore -- supersized with large roomy aisles, wide enough for two- way stroller traffic, well stocked pharmaceuticals, wonderfully cool air conditioning, and an amazing selection of soaps, vitamins, toothpastes. You get the picture.

I've even taken the children on outings there during the summer. Everyone puts their hands behind their backs so as not to be tempted to touch and we go up and down the aisles, marveling at the vast variety of products, as well as commenting on the differences in prices from the store in our neighborhood. Plus enjoying that wonderfully cool air conditioning. We make a nominal purchase and call it a day.

This particular day, I had dashed in to make a quick purchase, sans my children. That's when I noticed a closed- off section near the back of the store with a sign: "For Women Only." I pushed open the door, curiosity overwhelmingly piqued.

My eyes immediately riveted to the cosmetics and perfumes before me. Within seconds, the saleswoman pounced.

"I know exactly what you need!" she crowed. (You do? I wondered in bewilderment.)

Before I knew it, she had pulled several bottles of lotions, creams, lipsticks, eye shadows, and other items I didn't even recognize, from the shelves around her and from under the counter.

"Your skin is alright," she conceded with good business acumen, "but you don't take care of it properly. Now just start using this sunscreen, and that moisturizer, this cleanser, and that rejuvenator, plus this color eye shadow to bring out the blue of your eyes more, this color rouge (etc.)... and then you'll really look decent!" (I look indecent now?)

Along with the dazzling array of products, a flowing commentary of how to use each one, how often to apply it, and how much/little I'd have to pay for such a beauty regimen sprang from her lips.

With the seemingly endless spring of her commentary still sailing along, my thoughts gushed along as well: my oldest daughter just got braces, one of my sons has bi-weekly tutoring, and two more children are due to be fitted for glasses tomorrow, among the usual expenses of food, tuition and utilities.

Sorry lady, but I have other priorities.

On the way home, after splurging on a bar of soap for 2.25 N.S., I reflected on the encounter. Yes, I do have other priorities, and not just financial. I am NOT a twenty-year- old (or even a thirty-year-old, but let's not get into that). I don't LOOK like I'm twenty years old, nor do I have the money, time, or driving ambition to look it, either. The secular saleswoman was pleasant (though shall we say, energetic, but hey, she's doing her job), but she and I have very different goals in life. One of her society ideals is to look stunning. To be noticed by one and all. To look perpetually young/ageless.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not advocating that one neglect one's appearance or health, never spend money on oneself, or ruin one's sholom bayis by not making the effort to look attractive. Rather, it's a matter of outlook and effort.

Of course, we all have to look neat, clean, modest and presentable, but I just question how much we have to put in and what are the results we are trying to achieve. Not to mention the natural, intrinsic beauty of women living in a Torah society! Sometimes I feel it's a pity to cover over that beauty.

Each person's circumstances are individual. Someone whose husband wants her to put in the effort, should always do as he wishes. Someone who has a teenage girl who will be `so embarrassed' if their mother attends a PTA meeting without upgrading her regular apparel also may want to take her daughter's feelings into consideration. But, all in all, we're not looking to turn heads as we walk down the street!

For me, the battle to look like a twenty-year-old all of my life is a losing one. I'm old enough to be a [young] grandmother now, so it happens that when I go to one of my children's kindergarten parties, I may likely be the oldest mother there [and look it...]. Okay, I feel a twinge, but I tell myself, "This is a reminder that I need to work on the beauty of my neshoma." So I look for ways to implement this thought, like bringing a cup of soda to one of the other mothers, complimenting the teacher on her creative projects, telling the mother sitting next to me how well-behaved her daughter was when she came over to play yesterday.

Chessed is true beauty, the inner beauty expressed -- and that's the kind that lasts forever.

 

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