For two hours, I painted every child who sat in my chair. Their excitement softened my anger, and their parents praised the tiny details. Rachel accepted each compliment with a gracious smile, never mentioning that I had paid for the materials or that she had cornered me upon arrival.
When the last child skipped away with a rainbow on her cheek, I turned to Rachel and suggested that the hostess deserved something special. Her eyes lit up. With several mothers already lifting their phones, she settled into my chair and requested delicate butterflies or tasteful flowers for her Instagram reel.
I asked her to close her eyes. First came a smooth white base. Then I painted a round red nose, blue triangles beneath her eyes, purple dots across her cheeks, and an enormous red smile. Finally, I scattered rainbow glitter over everything. The children began giggling, while the adults fell silent.
Rachel opened her eyes and asked how she looked. I called her radiant and festive. Then she raised her phone, saw the clown staring back from the screen, and screamed.
“What is this?” she demanded as glitter dropped from her eyelashes.
My heartbeat thudded against my ribs. Every camera was pointed at us, and the satisfaction I had expected felt strangely hollow.
“You wanted to be the center of attention,” I said. “I thought you might appreciate finally looking the part.”
