I went over to my friend Bérengère's house last night. She has the most adorable little boy, Maxime, who is a bundle of toothy smiles and blond-haired charm. He's two and half, and smart as a whip.
The three of us played and sang songs while he took his bath, and afterwards she and I made truffle risotto while he ate his zucchini purée.
Then it was time for him to go to bed. Bérengère tucked him in while I continued to stir the risotto. When she came back in the kitchen, she reported their exchange, where Maxime had observed,
"Penelope is sick."
I wasn't. When she asked him what he meant, he said,
"Her eyes hurt."
She asked me what I thought he meant.
"I dunno, maybe my eyes are red?" I ventured. My eyes are often red. I work in front a computer all day and never wear my glasses like I'm supposed to. (Please don't fuss at me, Mom, they make my vision worse! I promise I put them on on the rare occasion I drive at night, okay?)
"No," she said, "they aren't."
Suddenly, I understood. I pointed to my trademark cat-eye liquid eyeliner.
"He totally didn't understand what this was about," I said, cracking up.
And come to think of it, maybe it does make it look like my eyes hurt, like I'm squinting them up in pain, or something?
Nothing like a 2.5 year old boy to make you reconsider everything you thought you knew about makeup in 3 seconds.
Well, he did say I was "gentille" right afterwards, so all is forgiven.
And my heart is officially melted.