“Mom, you look like a desperate old clown trying to cling to your youth,” he hissed, interrupting my impression that he was there to check on me or even to give me a praise. It’s awkward. You are not required to do it.He grinned when he said it, as though it were a lighthearted joke. However, I was aware of this. He meant it. My heart fell. I was astounded by his remarks and looked at him, thinking he would understand how cruel they were. However,

he remained motionless as he waited for me to remove the lipstick and a portion of my identity.Then, just when he thought things couldn’t get much worse, his wife Sarah came next to him, grinning smugly. She remarked, her voice brimming with disdain, “Oh, I agree with Steph.” “Older folks shouldn’t wear red lipstick. You should, in my opinion,

continue doing what other individuals your age are doing.My heart raced. Who was she to tell me what I was allowed to wear and what wasn’t? And who exactly did she think I ought to emulate among these “other people”? I’ve never been one to go with the flow, and this time I wasn’t going to start.