I was riding the early bus in the first forward-facing seat.
A girl got on just before downtown and sat in the center-facing seat directly in front of me. She might have been 18. Could have been 20.
She proceeded to extract a compact from her bag and began applying makeup, studying the little mirror as she went.
I wasn't sure this was a great idea. It was pretty dark in the bus. And the ride is not without an occasion jostle. How could she do a precise job?
I imagined saying something to her. “You know, you don't really need that stuff. You look just fine.”
But, of course, I kept quiet. Billions of dollars spent convincing women to be insecure about their appearance had already spoken.