Four years ago, a friend talked me into visiting a department store to get a makeover.

This was not my idea of a good time.

Why would I sit in a grown-up highchair — in public, no less — so that a stranger could tsk-tsk over my middle-aged face as she plied, plucked and poked? To me, this ranked right up there with a colonoscopy for whoo-whee fun.

My friend knew this, but she also knew my makeup tips gleaned 30 years ago from Seventeen magazine were a tad date ...

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