These days I can get ready for work in the morning faster than it takes my 5-year-old to eat a bowl of cereal.

It's been decades since I've felt compelled to use Aquanet and a hairdryer to lift my hair to ridiculous heights every morning. During my first year of college, I also gave up the eyeliner that I used to create the sleep-deprived raccoon look and decided that a clean face wasn't just easier, it also looked better.

Since then, I've been known to swipe on some clear mascara for special occasions and use lip gloss a bit more, but my only regular facial products are cleanser and moisturizer.

I only started reconsidering recently — there's nothing like fluorescent light to sap a woman's self-esteem — so I was in a vulnerable state when my 5-year-old approached me on a lazy Sunday afternoon, thrusting forth a series of high school prom photos and demanding to know what happened to turn a 17-year-old girl into a 37-year-old frump ... and why I wasn't married to any of those guys in their tuxes.

So many loaded questions, all so inappropriate for discussion with a kindergartner. Instead of answering, I pulled out an unopened makeup kit that shocked my daughter even more than seeing photos of her mom as a teenager in formal wear.

We had nothing better to do, so I let her rummage through my closet and outfit me in fabulous-if-you're-5 club attire, then I let her try to turn me into a cover girl.

By time she was done, I had a cheery clown's smile and apple-red cheeks, along a dusty rose nose and blue eyeshadow that did nothing to enhance my eyes but created an interesting technicolor 5 o'clock shadow effect. She thought I looked beautiful. I thought that I needed to wash my face.

The next day, while she was busy selecting a pop-star outfit for herself, I snuck over to the mirror to see if coloring in the lines might be worth my while. To my dismay, I discovered that all the makeup she had applied the day before had given me an allergic reaction that had reddened my skin in some places and made it peel in others.

I put away the makeup, slathered my face with moisturizer and, after toying with the idea of shopping for some hypoallergenic stuff to try it again, decided instead that I'd rather get some extra sleep than stand in front of the mirror for ages every morning.

My daughter can primp as much as she wants to, as long as she doesn't leave the house with makeup on.

She's just going to have to accept that I'd just as soon go without.

Reach Treena Shapiro at tshapiro@honoluluadvertiser.com. Read her daily blog at blogs.honoluluadvertiser.com.