Recently Sophie was lamenting over the fact that her big sisters got to do a “photo shoot” with me and she didn’t. I told her I would be more than happy to take her pictures, and the only reason I started taking her sisters’ portraits in the first place was bc I wanted the practice. She got very excited when I agreed to take her out and let her pose for me (something I can never get her to do on any other day), but her countenance immediately dulled when I told her she was NOT allowed to put on mascara.
You see, Sophie is a bit of a glamourista. If she has two pennies to rub together, she’s going to scour the drugstore aisles for fake nails that cost .02 cents. If it sparkles, she wants it in her hair. The first time Sabrina ever gave her a makeover, she stared at herself in the mirror for 3 days, completely besotted with her new look.
And heaven forbid anyone tell her she has green eyes. “They’re brown. Brown, brown, BROWN!” she says. Jessica Simpson-brown, so there.
Glamourista or no, I refused to let her wear mascara, but she smiled for me anyway. And all I had to say was that she looks like she’s eleven, and not ten.
Let’s see if that whole one-year-older trick works when she’s 29.