2010 is half over. What's worse, I'm about to have another birthday. My mother would say it's better than the alternative. Neil Young would say, it's better to burn out than to fade away. I'll just quote Mick Jagger and say, "what a drag it is getting old."
It's not the actual number that bothers me so much. There are some beautiful women in their 50's. The thing is, I've become so high maintenance.
It used to be so easy to look good. I didn't start wearing make up until I was 25. Sure, I wore a little mascara and blush if I was going out. But now I wouldn't leave the house without the full treatment. And by the full treatment I mean, exfoliating, priming, moisturizing, and painting, kind of like an old car.
And my hair, I hate talking about my hair. I worked with a girl for awhile, who, every time the conversation started to lag she would ask, "so what are you gonna do with your hair?" It drove me crazy because, then as now, the answer is I Don't Know! My hairdresser says she loves my hair because it will do whatever she wants it to. But for the life of me I can't bring it under submission. It looks different everyday, because it does just what it wants. I wore my hair long and straight until I was 28. My husband thought I spent too much time on it then, because it took awhile to dry. But it was so easy. If it was dirty, that's what pony tails are for. Nothing looks worse than an old lady with a pony tail. A woman over 40 should never have long hair, period. It drags her face down. So the only solution is high maintenance hair. It must be highlighted, ( dark hair makes an old woman look harsh ), cut and styled on a regular basis.
Exercise.......nah let's not talk about exercise.
Nails. Something happened to me overnight, that made me think I must have my nails done. This time of year, I don't worry so much about fingernails because of gardening and such, but I love a pedicure. It's the ultimate pampering, and it makes your feet look beautiful. I have recently tried to do my own toes, something I've done since I was about 12, and I seriously made a mess. Maybe I'm spoiled.
My point is, as I am aging, naturally I must believe I have less and less time left on this earth. However, I am spending more and more of that time just getting ready to leave the house. If only the world could see me through a soft focus lens instead of, I fear, the harsh ultraviolet light of a service station bathroom mirror.
When does a woman reach that place where she no longer cares? When can I start wearing stretch pants and put my glasses on a chain?
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