At 78, I’ve never been much for makeup or dressing up. My usual style is simple sweaters, slacks, and maybe a touch of lipstick if I’m feeling fancy. But when my granddaughter invited me to her wedding, I thought, why not try to feel pretty again?
I went all out. I found a lovely dress in a soft blue shade that made me feel elegant, not frumpy. I spent hours curling my thinning hair and carefully applying makeup—foundation, blush, even a little shimmer on my eyelids. I looked in the mirror and thought, Wow… maybe I still have a spark left in me. I felt proud walking into that venue, like I was carrying myself twenty years younger.
But the second I walked through the door, I noticed the looks. Side glances, whispers, even raised eyebrows. My stomach dropped. Then my granddaughter came rushing over. She pulled me aside, clearly embarrassed. She said: “Grandma, I love how you’re trying to be trendy, but maybe stick to your usual look next time. Quick! Go to the bathroom and get changed.”
I froze. My heart felt like it split in two. This was supposed to be her special day, and instead of sharing her joy, I was suddenly a source of shame. I couldn’t even find words—I just left. I got in my car, sat there sobbing with mascara running down my cheeks. At 78, I didn’t think I could still feel this kind of humiliation, but there I was, crying like a teenager after prom.
Later, she called. She apologized and said the wedding stress had gotten the better of her. She admitted she overreacted. But the damage was done. The memory of her words—“maybe stick to your usual look next time”—keeps replaying in my head.
I don’t know if I can forgive her. Part of me wants to. She’s young, stressed, and maybe she didn’t realize how cruel it sounded. But another part of me feels like I’ll never be able to walk into another family gathering without wondering if people are secretly judging me. The shame clings to me like a second skin.
Source: brightside.me
