Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Fixing a Hot Mess

At the end of my time in New Jersey and during the first part of our stint in Iowa, I lost about 15 pounds.  During this last stressful year of unemployment, I gained it all back.  Unfortunately, carbs are a long time friend to me in times of trial.

I also lost a contact toward the end of May (while on the treadmill, if I get any brownie points for that) and have been wearing my old glasses full-time for a couple months.  And Texas humidity seems to be doing a number on my hair -- I can't quite make it look right most days.  And I don't know if it's the lighting in the apartment bathroom or the cheap foundation I bought while on a strict budget, but my skin is yeechy.  And I'm already tired of the limited wardrobe I brought with me for this temporary time in the apartment.

All to say, I'm less than pleased when I behold myself in the mirror these days.  My husband, God bless his soul, still tells me I look beautiful, but what's he supposed to say?  "Ew, baby!  You're a hot mess!"  He has the wisdom of 24 years of marriage to know better than to make a comment like that.

But I've been chipping away at the hot mess.  I replaced my contacts as soon as I could get to an eye doctor here in San Antonio.  Been making use of the exercise room here and cutting down on sweets and portion sizes.  And yesterday, I got my hair done.  Whew!  It's amazing what a difference that can make.

The lady who did my hair was a friendly lady -- we had a conversation about Candy Crash and the frustration of getting stuck on certain levels.  (She said she had a customer who was on level 300-something.  Seriously??  Somebody doesn't have a life . . . )  I wasn't sure how she could do Candy Crush at all, however, with her fingernails.

These were serious nails -- wicked nails -- long, thick, colorful, bejeweled nails.  When I first saw them, I couldn't imagine how she was going to be able to do anything on my hair with those nails.  But she did.  They didn't even fall off when she scrubbing my hair and massaging my scalp under the water. 

But I had the passing thought:  is this what other people do when they're less than pleased when they behold themselves in the mirror?  Jewel-covered nails?  Blond streaky highlights on thick black hair?  Nose rings?  Tattoos?  Do those decisions come out of the same experience of being tired of your image?

I don't think I'll ever get THAT tired of what I look like.  And even if I did, I would start with a bright new lipstick or something first.  Lipstick's cheap . . . and it wipes off.

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