Lately I’ve taken to wearing bright red lipstick. I don’t know why this is true, but I’ve spent more time searching for the perfect bright berry colored lipstick in the last two months, than I’ve spent thinking about lip color in the last twenty years.  This phenomenon has me puzzled. I’m not your bright lipstick wearing kind of gal. At least I wasn’t.

I also have a sudden hankering for stupidly high heeled shoes. The sillier the better. I want high strappy sandals and tall, spikey half boots. I’m not your silly-high-heels kind of gal. At least I wasn’t.

What is it about life now that urges me to choose a brighter color? Why is sensible giving way to sensual? Why am I taking such delight in foolish frippery? Something has changed, and it’s not just my marital status. I’m smiling more. I’m laughing more. I’m writing more blogs. And I’m wearing brighter lipstick and higher heels. I’m like a teenager at the makeup counter, not because I’m hoping to lure a man, but because some time in the last few years, hidden under the veil of a sad marriage, I turned into a woman who likes it bright. Now, as I strip away the layers of old baggage, left over hurts and healing wounds, I’m slowly finding what I want and who I’ve become. I’m finding that I like shoes. And bright berry.