Avon

Daily, it's not special for my office to be suddenly filled with yelling flocks of women and children. Between each lesson for ten minutes Renata, Natalia and I hole up there, chatter, drink some coffee, eat a placinta, whatever, and hoards of 6th and 9th grade ne'er-do-wells bang on, throw open, run into (yes, bodily), shout through and eventually enter.

At first it was unsettling, progressing to annoying and infuriating, and now just another dull ache about life.

Polite knocks are boons and shows of civilization rare.

The politest come from Polina, a round-cheeked ethnic Romanian showing all the doe-eyed grace for which women from this part of the world are renowned. Once a week she tips into my white aluminum doorway and asks softly for permission to enter. Of course! I say. She tipples in like a fawn on her three inch kitty heels. She has a new catalogue, or the same one from last week, would we like to look again? Maybe we wish for something more?

Polina follows one of the few business avenues open to young women here. She buys and sells make up and moisturizers, between Avon and the teachers of our schools.

Today was delivery day. My door opened so violently I thought for sure it was one of the shits. Renata, Natalia and Polina burst in with vim rarely exhibited by any of them singly. But together, with the fuel of shiny pearls of deodorant and facial powders puffing out of pale clams, they were down right rowdy! Good gracious!

Polina upturned her bag and out fell caskets from heaven! Navy, violet, periwinkle, cream, sea foam.... all shining with this season's half-matte sheen. The clatter literally made R, N and I suck our breaths in, and not a few little hands fluttered to our perfect O mouths...

Glorious. I buy things from her even though everyone in America knows how I disdain the things. Kiddo's Year of Living Frumosly clips on! I've never owned a pumice stone, or more than one moisturizer, and now I have one and five. Golly. Golly golly.