I had the misfortune of walking into a store one day and encountering the woman behind the make-up counter. No, she did not have the shampoo I was looking for. No, she was very sorry, but wasn't I interested in some new make-up? After all, said the seller, I was looking very pale.

Pale? Moi? "But I'm wearing blush!" I protested. "And bronzer!" A quick glance in the mirror revealed my burnished face looking, at least in my sometimes humble opinion, just fine.

"Oh my!" exclaimed my self-appointed alter-ego. "Look at you! Your hair is blonde, your skin is pale--you can't wear THAT bronzer! You look positively washed out. Don't you see? You need a blush that's purpleish, like THIS!"

I took another long look in the mirror. And wilted. She was right--my skin looked sallow, almost yellow. How could I have been so misguided, wearing a terracotta bronzer when all this time I should have been wearing purpley blush? She quickly brushed on the wonder product.

"So I'll ring it up for you!" she said cheerily. "It's gorgeous!"

I mumbled weakly something about thinking it over and left the store, disheartened. A pause is a wonderful thing, a balm for the distressed soul. At least that's what I've found millions of times in my life. A few blocks away from the store, I suddenly had a little reality check: my blush was fine! I didn't need anything purple! In fact, I've gotten lots of compliments on my natural-looking bronzer. And yet the pressure to convert me into a purple person had swayed my whole worldview, if for a brief, blushing moment.

I could go lots of ways with this thought. I could look at peer pressure, at the influence of society, at the fragility of the human ego, or the importance of staying away from shopping. But I think the lesson I'd like to focus on is the critical need to surround myself with people whose perspectives and attitudes enhance and complement my own. Because otherwise my own ground is in danger of shifting and beauty can fast become monstrous in the eyes of the beholder.
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My daughter is a born leader. Some kids just are. Thankfully, she is one of those benevolent dictators, and she knows just how to step into a situation and take control. I knew all this, of course. In fact, I have alternately marveled over this, talked to her about this, and spoken to my husband about this "Handle With Care" gift of hers for many years now. On the one hand, it makes her Queen Bee, at the top of the heap. On the other hand, it's painful when she's upended, which happens every once in awhile.

But I never realized the extent of her ruling powers and also the extent of her doting fans. Until yesterday.

"Right my hair is like yours?" Friend A asks, a look of agonizing hopefulness etched clear across her face. "It's like yours but it doesn't look exactly like yours, but it's still like yours, right?"

My heart catches in my throat, like a hairpin, stuck.

"Right," my daughter agrees good-naturedly. She cannot possibly grasp the depth of Friend A's longing. This, I know.

They go outside to play. I hover near them. They are discussing Purim costumes, what they will dress up as. My daughter casually says she wants to be a butterfly (Note: This is a rerun from last year Purim--I get to actually save money!) this year. Immediately, Friend A and Friend B jump in on the idea.

"Let's ALL be butterflies this year!" they clamor. My daughter considers the proposal.

And then my heart really does flip-flops.

Friend B says, "YOU'LL be the Queen Butterfly and we'll be your butterfly servants!"

There is such raw humility in the concept. My daughter is oblivious to this. She excitedly informs me that she, as queen, will have a huge butterfly painted across her face while her two friends-slash-maids will have small butterflies painted on their cheeks.

What makes some kids the queens and others the maids? How do these friends fall in so naturally to that role while my daughter exudes so much power and unhesitating confidence? It stymies me, worries me, excites and horrifies me.

I can't really relate. I was always one of the followers, pining for a chance to get two small butterflies on my cheeks.

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