Looking homeless

O.k., I've come to the conclusion that if it was not for my kids, I would look like a homeless person. Case in point: My oldest daughter, age 24, just pointed out a long, black smudge running down my face. Don't know what it was, but I looked like some kind of a rejected chimney sweep. I have no idea how long the smudge was there, or how long it would have remained, for that matter. Now, my daughter is a walking vision of beauty, so after wiping the smudge off my face with my own spit, I am feeling a little "unpretty".
For the most part, my daughters keep me from looking like some kind of a derailed train wreck when I step out the door. They are my fashion and beauty advisors, and my moral support. There are few others who offer that kind of honesty (with a spoon of sugar).