It is official. I suck at being a girl.
I've never really had any idea how to wear make-up or how to accessorize. I'm not an expert on lotions, creams, powders, perfumes, or any other product found in the beauty aisle. I've always just bought what my little sister Jill bought. She seems to know what she's doing. Thank goodness the good-gene gods are on my side, and I've never really needed much from Estee Lauder or her cohorts.
Or should I say, the gods were on my side.
I'm not exactly sure what happened when I turned 32. Over the past year, my youthful glow has faded to more of a...matte finish. And I'm not just talking about the darker-than-normal circles around my eyes, the deep wrinkles in my forehead, and the errant hair growth. Unwelcomed guests have also creeped up below the shoulders. Hello, love handles. You and your friend saddle bags can find some other soccer mom to cling to...anytime now. Thank you for your cooperation.
Since walking around with a bag over my head and/or buying an entirely new wardrobe is not an option, I've made an addition to my A team of get-your-butt-in-gear experts. I've got the MAC trainer on saddlebag duty. Bikram's on...well, I don't know what Bikram does. I sweat a lot. That has to count for something. And finally, this week I've enlisted the help of my Jewish mommy for hair, make-up and clothing advice. She admittedly won't walk her dog without her hair and make-up in place, so I figure she's a great resource.
If this doesn't work, I have a back-up plan: buy low-wattage light bulbs and place all mirrors above the waist.
I'm neurotic today because...
...it took me 33 years to become concerned about being girly.
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