LIPSTICK IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL

by Melodie Johnson Howe

My husband has trouble listening to singers who are off key. Which means he has a problem listening to most contemporary music. We attended a performance of the Moscow Symphony Orchestra. When the string section and the brass section began to tune up my husband winced.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“A Russian A,” he replied, dryly.

Knowing him as I do, I laughed. But I also knew that my ear did not pick up the fact that the strings and the brass were not tuning to the same A. I quite happily go around singing and humming off key all the time. I was humming to myself in the kitchen when my husband came in and asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I was just humming.”

He winced again and left the room. For people with perfect pitch the world of music and people singing to themselves must sound like a child banging relentlessly on the keys of the piano. This political season I have found myself empathizing with my husband’s affliction.

Without context words are being thrown at me (you see, I take this personally) like dirt clods. I’m being bombarded and bludgeoned with words. Not only am I wincing, I’m ducking.

CHANGE, MY FRIENDS, HOPE, REFORM, CRISIS, FINANCIAL CRISIS, OLD, HONORABLE, MAVERICK, THE PEOPLE, WORKING POOR, MIDDLE-CLASS, THE RICH, DEATH TAX, OUT OF TOUCH, DOESN’T GET IT, CELEBRITY, MESSIAH, FORECLOSURE, DOWN SYNDROME, PREGNANT, LIPSTICK.

Wait a minute. How did those last four words get in there? I know how to deal with all the others. I just keep shadow boxing my way through the election. But Down Syndrome? Pregnant? Lipstick? I stopped jabbing and moving like a butterfly when I heard those words. I began to actually listen. What were these female words doing in an election? Down Syndrome is not necessarily a female word, but for me it is. I had a sister with Down Syndrome. She called me, “Sis..tah.”

Whew, something I can relate too on a purely gut level. It took my breath away. It was unexpected. It brought up memories of a young woman that was like me but not. What did this have to do with politics? Nothing and yet everything. I’m very pragmatic where my politicians are concerned. I don’t cry over them, I don’t fall in love with them, I don’t worship them. I just want them to protect America, reduce the size of government, and get out of my life. But suddenly I’m hearing the words Down Syndrome. Sometimes in an ugly way, sometimes in an understanding way. And then I saw the baby boy in the arms of his sister. And I watched as the little girl licked her hand and smoothed his hair. An ancient gesture of a grandmother from another time. But so female. Tears welled in my eyes. I quickly swallowed them back. I didn’t cry over Obama’s speech. (I know Opra’s false eyelashes fell off while she was crying, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the columns.) And I picked up a magazine and flipped through it in the middle of McCain’s speech. But that moment got me. And no words were used. I had stopped shadow boxing and was hit with a punch to the heart.

I won’t discuss the word pregnant here. I think we have all had enough of the teenage daughter and her boyfriend as I am sure they too have had enough. But still the word pregnant in a campaign is delicious. It’s a single word that carries a reality. (Pun intended.) Unlike pro-life or pro-choice. It’s a word that’s difficult to toss around in a meaningless way.

I love the word lipstick and couldn’t be more delighted that it has been inserted into the political lexicon. It is a fresh word. Soon to be tainted, I know. But right now I’m enjoying it. The pompous Kerry and the stumbling Bush didn’t fight over lipstick and whether it should be put on a pig. No, a woman has entered the race, love her or hate her, and brought with her all her femaleness and fleshiness. (Including breast feeding.) Hillary Clinton brought us the word “pantsuit.” Not very sexual, though I like to wear them. But lipstick is a sensual word. We women know what lipstick feels like when applied. Creamy, hopefully not too scented. Men know what it feels like when they kiss women’s lips. Women also know that picking a color can be a treacherous adventure. More shades than nature or even Revlon could produce. Too red? Too orange? Too pink? Too dark? Too light? Too glossy? Too matte? Does it run into the lines around your mouth? Lipstick! Hockey moms wear it. Pit bulls don’t. And now the most important philosophical question of our time. Do pigs wear it? Should a male politician use that hackneyed old term — put lipstick on a pig and it’s still a pig? This phrase has always bothered me. I feel sorry for the pig, and yes it does equate the pig to a woman. Why else the word lipstick? Nobody thought to say if you put a jock strap on a pig it’s still a pig.

I am back to shadowboxing, deflecting words being spewed at me without thought of their meaning. And the election has tilted for good or ill with the weight of female words. But the one thing I do know is that lipstick is good for the soul.