I watched the movie and I did not recognize you.
Your name was in the credits, though. I checked.
“Yes, Mom, the makeup artist is a genius.”

You did not make it to the cover of Vogue.
They put up another woman, younger
with sexy, hungry eyes,
like those of a wild wolf looking for a mate
in the middle of the night,
or an English princess forced into celibacy.

“That’s me, Mom; it is just a different angle,
dim lighting, and a few brushes of Photoshop.”