One of my favourite times with my sons is when they sit next to, with or on me as I apply make up.
I melt as they smear pink paste over their cheeks and (unhygienically) pound the mascara wand in and out of the tube. I lurch as they squeeze the foundation tube from the bottom and I grasp as the bronzing puff is detonated against their tiny faces.
And I wince as when my work is complete my first born declares: “You pretty now. You a girl now.”