Spare my blushes

Today I bought my first blusher. My first ever. In my whole life. I suppose you might have one of two reactions to this announcement: 1) just exactly what sort of a feminist/flibbertigibbet/airhead (etc) are you?; 2) what took you so long, and what on earth have you looked like up to now?
And I suppose that having raised the questions I should answer them. Though the mindset of 70s feminism still causes pangs of sheepishness, I can only say that these days I'm the sort of feminist who wears blusher. And the sort of flibbertigibbet and airhead who ... I don't know, reads book with big words and goes to movies with subtitles. Will that do?
As to the second question, one answer will cover both parts. I never felt I needed colouring in before. The bloom of youth might have faded a while back but I had enough pink in my cheeks to pass muster. Just lately though - especially since summer came and went so disappointingly - it's been a very pallid reflection staring back from the mirror. And with Buenos Aires looming, I thought I should Do Something.
A sweet young thing in a pharmacy took pity on me. Two flicks of her little brush and I looked ... well, glowingly healthy. So she sold me a nice pot and brush, and now all I have to do is learn how to apply it myself.



Make-up Tammy Faye Bakker-style.