THE CURSE OF HAVING BECKY TISDALE/LOVE/WELDAY AS AN OLDER SISTER

Story 1

When I was seven years old my sister and my cousin Merry decided that they were going to play with make-up and that I was going to be the client.  I, of course, was not too happy about this and tried to escape but was tackled and forced into a chair. 

First, they cleaned my face with cold cream, and put a scarf across my brow to keep my hair from getting in the way.  “Shut your eyes and hold still,” said Becky.  I squirmed. Merry held me tight against the chair while Becky put make-up on my face, darkened my eyebrows, put some blush on my cheeks, made up my eyes and added bright red lipstick. 

She handed me a mirror and I threw it across the room after seeing this monster.  That didn’t help.  The girls then put a headscarf on my head, and decided I looked a lot like Elizabeth Taylor. 

I had no escape.  I yelled and fought but was always overcome by the two older girls. No one came to my rescue.

They tried to get a dress on me, but I did manage to escape at that point. 

Where was mama when these tortures happened?  It seems she was always gone somewhere every time I was forced into being embarrassed by dear sister Becky. 

Thank goodness as adults we grew to become great friends.  Thanks Becky, for ruining my childhood.

By the way, they hid the make-up remover, and I had a Dickins of a time getting it off. Maybe she was preparing me for the future when I was acting in plays and musicals and wearing make-up.  Perhaps that is why I like coloring my beard different colors for occasions.  Older sisters have a way of shaping personalities of their younger siblings. Thank goodness I survived.

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