Musings on Rum Raisin

Object's meaning changes as a character changes

Object: Rum Raisin Lipstick

As a young woman in her 20s in New York City, I always wore Rum Raisin lipstick by L'Oreal. For one, it was my sister's favorite color, and it always looked great on her. I loved my sister more than anything.

Also, Rum Raisin? OK, I have a "raisin" on my arm. It is actually a birthmark shaped like a raisin.

My birthmark is called my "raisin". See, there was a story I read as a child about a gingerbread girl who ran away. The whole gingerbread community looked for her: when they found her, the parents cried. Yes, it was their daughter because she was the only gingerbread girl who had a raisin on her arm. Hence, my identifying marker, the raising shaped birthmark on my arm. I've loved raisins my whole life because of that children's book.

As I grew older, I continued to wear Rum Raisin lipstick because it spoke of rum: an alcoholic drink made more tolerable with coke on the rocks.

I should say rum and coke was my favorite drink. It was smooth going down. It also felt wonderfully dizzy after having about two or three of them.

Now, I ought to tell you: I wear only one item of make up to this day and it is lipstick. I don't wear eye shadow because I rub my eyes too much. No mascara is worn because it gets on the inside of my eyeglasses too much and makes it difficult to see. No blush is necessary because my complexion is already too pink.

Just a little rum raisin lipstick and I feel made up enough.

Suppose you'll want to know how I feel about the color of Rum Raisin. Well, it's a mix of red with brown undertones with a slight shine of gloss to it. It reminds me of the caramel kisses of my first boyfriend combined with a very traditional upbeat saucy red.

When I wear Rum Raisin, I feel I am wearing the essence of my youth. Though twice the age of whence I first wore it, I am transported back in time to when I was sexy, vibrant, and full of life. Yes, I used to be beautiful. Now, much older, I feel beautiful with my Rum Raisin lipstick by L' Oreal.

Did I mention that it's French? In high school, I took French. I wanted to be an artist. To draw, to paint, or to write something artful. I figured Paris would be my residence one day. Some little apartment surrounded by people who all knew each other. Maybe I would actually go to the grocery store to buy a real baguette. When rum raisin hits my lips, I feel a little more French than usual. My words come out slower. I talk with more thought. I dream a little deeper.

I found a similar shade called Raisin Rage. It just turned my hair red.

Then, there was my brief affair with Toast of New York. That one made me look like a harlot.

Nothing seemed to compare to Rum Raisin. I even began to deconstruct my intentions: I had to eat something with raisins every day. Otherwise, I was just another cog in the machine, nothing unique, and no loyalty to my own self.

It began in the morning with raisins in my oatmeal and ended in the evening with raisins in my tapioca. No changes, and no surprises here.

Then, I proceeded to will myself into dressing in mere shades of brown and red. One Halloween, I even dressed up as a raisin. I wore brown tights and sewed an oblong piece of brown material together, complete with black little specks. Actually, someone mistook me for a russet potato. I felt offended by that.

I never understood people's distaste for raisins, either. My brother requested that I make him oatmeal cookies one day. Surely he wanted raisins in them, I thought. Yet, when I presented them to him, perfectly brown and chock full of my dried fruit, he yelled that he hated raisins and I should have known better. I was completely traumatized and vowed to myself that I would most certainly never bake for him again.

I must say I am trying to end my hurt feelings by rarely if ever wearing the ill fated Rum Raisin. What had started out as a love affair truly had become an obsession. My feelings had their place, my cravings their as well. But, to be honest, I would rather not wear a lipstick so passionate every day. Not everyone deserves a piece of me.

So, I will go with no lipstick at all on a daily basis. Except for the daily ballerina pink, I should say only Chapstick will keep those urges at bay.

In case you didn't guess, I prefer no lipstick at all to one that causes such utter despair. For who can live on a diet surrounded by raisons anyway? Quite unusual I think. Unconventional and inconvenient for an outing with others as well. How many of us have dietary restrictions these days, and yet there has been no allowance for raisins at all. Yes. I would be quite rude if I asked the chef for the addition of raisins to my meal. If I should say yes I would like raisins please in order that I should be able to differentiate my plate from my neighbor's, I would be wheeled off to the looney bin, I think.

Ballerina pink is much more conventional. In what world of mine I believed Rum Raisin just as acceptable as Ballerina Pink I am embarrassed to say was utter fantasy and unacceptably unreal, in fact.

So, Champagne on Ice, Ballerina Pink, a strict diet precluding Rum Raisin to tighten my belt should do. It's not a good look when one loves a certain thing to obsession. The real test is to abstain from the very thing that one has his eyes on. If the thing be pressing, remove it from one's sight lest the ego be overblown.

I enjoyed my passion too much and so it ends here.