Presto.

I've been working on a few chapters about what it was like to be a little girl growing up in the Free to Be, You and Me seventies. You wouldn't know it, to walk into the girl's section of a toy store today, but back then, froufrou was considered by some to be a hazardous substance. My consciousness-raised mom was one of the "some," and consequently, girly-girl stuff was rationed in our house the way Froot Loops and soda pop were: empty treats to be indulged in sparingly. (At least, that's how I remember it. Stay tuned for my mom's follow-up to my memoir, "The Way We Really Were." )

When I could get my hands on that kind of thing, I was obsessed with it. Of all the so-called feminine past times, I was fascinated in particular by hair and makeup. My mother had (and still has) beautiful wavy hair and flawless skin. Her entire beauty regimen consisted of lipstick and a tan. There was no vanity drawer full of paints and potions for me to play dress up with, and I wasn't allowed to own so much as a tube of lipgloss before I was fourteen. My dad's youngest sister always had stacks of Glamour lying around, and I snuck off with them the way boys might sneak off with copies of their father's Playboy ( I did that too--saving that one for the book).

I used to be riveted by the Merle Norman makeover ads, with their dramatic before and after pictures. In the before, the model was always dejected looking, as if she'd been told to contemplate the eternal nature of suffering for the camera. In the opposite photo, presto, she was made over, rapturous. As an adult, those spreads just annoy me. I think the expressions in both photos should be natural. It's just hair and makeup, after all (thank you, Mom, for that).

But maybe they're not always a set-up. I broke down and saw my hair stylist for my semi-annual visit last week, and instead of my usual trim, I got crazy and went for bangs and color.

Before:



Presto:



Can you tell how it made me feel on the inside?

I know, it's just hair and makeup. Believe me, this morning, pre-coffee and shower, I was right back at "before." But we've been talking about those little things we let go that go such a long way in terms of energy and outlook, and I guess this is one of mine. I've been very moved by your confidences, and I'm hoping that the act of sharing them will turn out to be a down payment on every one of those dreams.

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P.S. I'm turning 40 on November 23, did I tell you? I've been making myself (and Patrick) crazy trying to decide how to celebrate, but I know one thing for sure: I've got a date with Leonard Cohen. Anything in the next sixty years after that is icing.