Tim: I just wanted you to know that Kelly (his haircut person I saw for the first time on Saturday) said, completely unsolicited, by the way, “Wow! She’s so pretty!”
Me: Are you sure she was referring to me? Because really. Zero makeup, hair in a messy ponytail thing, bags under my eyes? Food or deodorant or both – probably – on my clothes? And besides, you pay her.
Tim: Um. I don’t pay her for unsolicited compliments.
You know, there actually was once a time in my life where I was petrified of leaving the house without makeup, having my hair pretty, and wearing the *perfect* outfit.
I even wore makeup to basketball practice, where I would get sweaty and hot and bang up on anyone under the basket trying to get a rebound.
But, you better believe I’d look good running up and down the hardwood (basketball court for the sports illiterate).
Then, at some point in college, I started caring less. And less. And less.
And soon, I was wearing sweatpants to class without a stitch if makeup, smirking as the freshman who were all dolled up, though secretly wishing I had the energy and desire to put that much effort into my morning.
Becoming a mom made me not care at all. Did I accomplish all of the non-neggotiables? Shower? Brush my teeth? Put on deodorant? Am I wearing pants? Check, check, check, check?
We’re good to go.
A shower is
kind of like my thing. Do not expect an overly pleasant conversation – or more than a one word, curt response – until I’ve had my shower and I can remove the swamp from my mouth.
My mom learned this wonderful tidbit about my personality a looooooong time ago. There would be arguments over absolutely nothing in the mornings before school until she figured out that I needed time – and a shower – to wake up and become a pleasant person instead of a raging (okay, maybe not raging) beast of a human. A simple question like, “do you want toast for breakfast?” had the potential to set me off all, “I’m not even hungry!”
Okay – I think I just took a detour from the point I was trying to make…moral of the story: don’t mess with me or ask me questions until I’ve had a shower and I approach you, capisce (“cah-peesh” people)? End tangent.
So, my whole point was that I no longer care that I do not wear makeup unless it is some kind of occasion that calls for that kind of extra effort. I’ll curl my eyelashes because it takes like, a minute, but that’s usually the extent of my beauty regimen.
Thing is, though? I would love to spend an extra twenty minutes to do all the frilly stuff. I just…don’t have an extra twenty minutes and even if I did?
Doubtful I’d start spending it in front of a mirror. I would like to say I would, but, obviously, if I’ve gone this long (think college) without actually caring….I don’t see it changing any time soon.
I want to be that person who cares…who always looks put together…never frumpy…wears makeup to go to the grocery store…but I’m just…sigh. I’m just not her.
*Unless* I’m invited to do the kinds of activities that require a cute outfit, curled hair, and a pretty face.
Unfortunately, buying food, running errands, and toddler play dates do not fall into that category.
I honestly cannot remember the last time I wore cute shoes and wasn’t wearing a nursing tank under my regular clothes. Oh. Wait. It was almost nineteen months ago.
(Related: Tieks, please help…my feet. Do you make size 11…and potentially a half?).
I’m more for convenience and comfort than style, because I cannot be chasing a kid through a playground with a dress on. Hello, awkward situation waiting to happen.
Fashionista I am not. Someone may want to call that intervention show where they throw away all your clothes and give you a better wardrobe. I think we may be at that point. I’m so far down the frumpy path that I can’t see the forest for the trees.