Butter. Eggs. Powdered Wigs. Painted Smiles.

Today I started this notebook. I was putting it off – there was always something coming up demanding my time, allowing me to procrastinate journaling online.

And here I am. On my favorite armchair with my laptop. I can smell the brioche I just baked. It’s cooling on the rack in the kitchen.

Brioche. Some might say, “A fussy bread for demanding palates.”

I’m not a big fan, but I made it anyway. I am more of a focaccia, baguette, and rustic artisanal round loaf person.

Earlier, I rummaged through my drawer and found an old lipstick—my favorite shade—that was used up, worn to the nub, and down to the metal. Don’t know why I kept it. I was looking at it, just sort of staring at it – in wonder.

“Painted smiles” came to mind. As I threw out the tube, I realized I threw out a tool for creating masks.

The lipstick was a cylinder of painted performance. Something I once thought I needed to be seen properly.

The brioche, in the kitchen, performed its display of sophistication and wealth – a bread bearing a rich dose of butter and eggs.

Every time I think ‘brioche,’ I think Marie Antoinette.

You know, with her famous line—”Let them eat cake.”

They say it wasn’t even cake — something closer to brioche. The story changes depending on who tells it.

And she probably never muttered that line—although she could have. It sounds like something she could have said.

I am thinking about the lipstick I threw in the garbage. Expensive. Although I don’t bother with lipstick now, I did wear it all the time for years.

At one time, I considered it a must. Felt naked without it. Wouldn’t go out with its smear. It’s a painted touch.

No different from what a powdered wig was to the ladies back then – another kind of costume, worn until it became indistinguishable from the person.

And I made a brioche.

A rustic loaf doesn’t have the same ‘finesse,’ I suppose?

You know, the Earl of Sandwich was said to have ‘invented’ the sandwich. Is that why it ‘caught on’?

We have seen the buffoonery over the centuries.

Are we still at it?