The women in the picture

         She looked frozen Trapped in a rectangular box, cpnfined within a mundanc setting.Her smile looked phoney.Decidedly fake, implying that comfort and familiarity.Her shoulders stood tall, broad and strong. Possibly , she was a swimmer, a regular and matural swimmer.A tinge of masculinity cloaked her posture.Her arms were crossed rigidly across her chest in a brazen challenge to her audience. Her round face was covered with way too much makeup.It cast a greyish tint to her skin. The glaring red lipstick was smeared around the edges and it painfully clashed with her eye shadow.The cheeks were bathed with plenty of colour, and a thin layer of shiny powder peeped out bravely.Her eyes  caught my attention though.Small slanted eyes peeked put from bushy eyebrows daring to be judged and dismissed.Her eyes refused to be trapped.They refused to play along.My mother drew my attention to the fact that I had been staring at her photograph for a long time .'Toss her aside .'she commanded . already expecting the inevitable refusal.'she's dark and mannish.' She stretched out her hand to take the photograph.'what a shame, though,'though ,'she began .'she had such high qualifications.'