I was on the corner of Sixth Avenue a few months ago, waiting to cross the street, when a black Mercedes SUV pulled out in front of me. There were two large men in the front seat dressed in nice suits, their size alone was worth note, and two women sitting in the back with the windows all rolled down.
The vehicle slowly rolled to a stop at the corner and then something caught my eye. One of the ladies was vigorously applying powder with a brush to her face. I mean really going to town. I actually started grinning at the unusual sight of this woman so concerned with her shine problem. Her friend then touched her on the arm and then mimicked her in the manner of which she was applying and they both started laughing. The lady who had, until recently, been feverishly putting on makeup then turns to look at this dumbstruck gentleman and I'll be damned if it wasn't Uma Thurman.
She smiled at me and I nearly fainted. The SUV then turned the corner and sped merrily away.
Aha. Mystery solved. We'll all sleep well tonight, I suspect. So will Ms. Thurman, because, as we all know, face powder or not, the woman is inhumanly beautiful.