Marilyn Monroe's Narrative: My Mother

My mother is not an exceptionally beautiful woman. She would not be remembered as a modern-day Helen of Troy, whose face launched a thousand ships, or a sumptuous vixen like Marilyn Monroe. She is a woman who seamlessly blends into a crowd, with a face people could confuse with another; maybe a friend's mom, a distant relative or the owner of a bakery down the street. She has the face of a million women and none of them are exceptionally special; none of them exceptionally beautiful. My mother is a plain-Jane; a woman whose attraction is reflected through her personality. Her kind of beauty is a natural, everyday charm that invites a second glance even if her face does not. It is buried deep in the wrinkles of her skin, overflowing in the silver mage-marks at her temples and imprinted on the calluses of her hands. Time has touched her, but it was not cruel. Time has been gentle and it graces her with lines around her mouth that reflects her contentment in life. A thin line crosses her forehead and dimples between her brows; a line that developed over years of worry and frustration. Her warm, rich caramel colored skin has dulled to a deep beige. Yet, time has made her eyes bright with deep, soulful wisdom that only a woman who has lived could wear. She has a comfortable vanity that allows her to feel confident and …show more content…
This bedroom is spacious compared to the one I remember from my childhood and light flows in and penetrates every corner of it. I could see my mother standing in front of the mirror that spanned the width of the wall in her bathroom where she washed her face. After she had rinsed and pat-dried her face with a plush towel, she took a dollop of creme from a jar she kept on a shelf above the sink and massaged it into her skin using gentle circular motions over her face, down her neck and across her