She examined her stretch marks and wept.
Oh darling, don't ruin your mascara.
Intricate lines, the color of a pale peach, laced her thighs.
Oh, baby, it's okay.
Her running mascara was like liquid smoke upon her lovely, rosy cheeks.
Oh dear! That's expensive!
Her edges were rough, and her corners were chipped.
But she was okay.
Right?
