Staring into the mirror, my fingers caressed my face. I wanted the spider-leg lashes and powdered cheeks, like syrupy frostings on a Christmas cake. I dreamed of hearing “You look sooo pretty” from phony admirers. 

Thump. A package from the cosmetic website arrived at the doorstep. I smuggled it to my room, preventing potential family conflicts. 

Camouflaging my face with paints, a hideous hag arose. Imagining people finally referring me as “gorgeous”, I sneaked out readily for the Christmas party.

“Are you wearing makeup?” my mom inquired.

I hurried my steps. 

“Come back. You forgot to blend in the blush!”