Pretty Mary


    Mary was my first obvious introduction to what alcohol does for
    women. She was in her sixties, but looked eighty. Mary would come
    into the bar dressed in her ratty old sequined gowns and sit at the
    piano bar every night. She would sing along with the crowd and
    occasionally request special songs and add a dollar or two to the tip
    jar.

    She wore her bleached yellow- blond hair in a Prince Valiant haircut
    with her bangs always cut slightly crooked.  She would go to the
    ladies room with its low lighting and slenderizing mirror to re-apply
    her make up no less then four times a night, talking to herself and
    her imaginary lover in her raspy too much whiskey voice and her
    lispy diction caused by a combination of  her gapped yellow teeth
    and too much to drink.

    Her blue eyes were watery and red rimmed as if she has been
    crying, but she always wore her smile and seemed content. Her
    eyebrows were drawn on in an unnatural black smudge that went
    well past the natural line of her brow. She wore no mascara, which
    emphasized the red rims of her puffy little eyes.

    I would watch her put her red lipstick on and wonder how she could
    be so far off her mark. She so carefully applied her pancake makeup
    to her wrinkled, acne scared face; her rouge caked on in less than
    perfect circles on her cheeks, resulting in what appeared to be clown
    cheeks.  Squinting her eyes to see what she saw, she would smack
    her lips with satisfaction and mutter something nice to herself. A job
    well done… she was happy with what she saw.

    Mary wore an abundance of cheap cologne which she would dab
    behind her ears and knees and splash down between her flat and
    saggy breast. She had no discernable cleavage, but wore low cut
    tops to show it off.  It was always my impression that she used
    perfume in lieu of bathing. The resulting affect was a mix of perfume,
    Gin and body odor covered up with clothing that smelled like cat
    urine.

    She loved the bartenders and would flirt with them most of the night,
    until they decided she had enough to drink, she would then become
    belligerent and pouty. The pouting was by far the more annoying
    trait, because Mary thought she did so with sex appeal.

    Women were not Mary’s friends. She told me they were jealous of
    her beauty. Maybe in her youth that was true, but I couldn’t see it.  I
    did not see her value at the time.

    Mary left her mark in the world.  She has been gone more than 30
    years now, but I can still see her face looking in the mirror, smacking
    her lips and smiling wide; talking to her imaginary lover, ordering her
    drinks, singing her songs and happy with herself. Indeed we should
    all be so satisfied with who we are.