Some girls love getting their hair done, brows waxed, nails and little piggies painted but not me. Don't get me wrong: I love the results. I love the sparkely blonde highlights, fresh haircut, and neat browline. And, let us not forget, the pristine nails and pretty feet-- I love those too.
But man do I hate, hate, hate that I have to be there for any of it. However, oddly enough, I do actually enjoy that moment in the brow wax when they rip the muslin off your skin. Freak! I know. Little masochistic? Hell yes! Sure, I too briefly experience that same tense moment prior to the ripping during which I think; "am I going to lose all my skin?" But I always find the actual ripping out of little brow hairs bizarrely pleasurable.
Nothing else though in the beauty regime do I take pleasure in-- well, again, except the results. I fidget impatiently through hours of getting my hair foiled for the highlights. Then while I am getting my hair cut I panic that too many inches are falling. I can feel it getting lighter and I get scared. Oh, then there is the mani and pedicure. I know this is suppose to be a relaxing treat but the whole time I am totally anxious and can't relax because I am thinking of a million other things I could be doing. Also, it tickles the hell out of me when they scrub my feet and massage my calves. I pretty much hold my breath until they are done because, honestly, I'm a little afraid of those Asian women.
These little evils though are my necessary rites of spring and segue into my summer months of high maintenance upkeep. Not that I am so low maintenance in the winter but I am lower. I go darker with low lights and NEVER paint my toes or finger nails and I rarely get a brow wax. I pretty much even forget about moisturizing. The only upkeep I manage in the winter is my daily shaving but make no mistake, that is because of my aversion to body hair not for ascetic reasons.
This day of spring cleaning is so that my hair and my body and my feet will live up to the dresses and shoes I bought to wear to the 2 weddings I have been invited to and the yearly Easter parade at church this weekend. Eye roll. And you know it is only because I know people talk about my ugly feet and 3 inch roots if I don't. And there you have it: That is how vain and self-absorbed I really am. Isn't it ridiculous that I actually believe that "people" will be talking about MWAH?
Nah, I'm kidding. I really do it for me. Really.
So, one of these weddings is tomorrow and it is the wedding of a little girl I use to, get this, babysit. BABYSIT. That's right folks, people trusted me with their children and now kids I use to babysit are getting married. None of this sits well with my rising Oh-My-God I am going to be 35 anxiety. Already at the showers people have asked, "How do you know the bride?" And embarrassed, I admit to her late-20's friends: "I use to babysit her." I definitely don't like it that other than the parents at these wedding soirees and the wedding itself I am the oldest friend. Yes, Ryan will be there, but he is my trophy husband and is younger by a month and a half. And, for the record, he still thinks he is 32.
Oh, and, by the way, for all the boys in the crowd, this is Fishstick's wedding I am talking about. The spinner is, as of tomorrow, officially off the market. Sorry, you had to know it was bound to happen. Nobody that hot stays unavailable forever. Gentlemen, you're gonna have to file Fishstick in your spank banks under unavailable, really never going to happen for me.
Anyway, my spring cleaning is done-- at least for the next week with regards to my nails, toes and brows. I think I can stretch the highlights to 6 weeks and for me that means 8. But hey, the kids, my only fans, noticed that Mommy looks different. Beau noticed my feet. "What's dhat Mommy!" Pointing with crinkled nose to the polish. Carmella made fun of me: "Oh, Mommy's all fancy now," she said in a mocking tone. Ryan, never missing the obvious, said "You're blonder."
Vanity, my friends, is not in vain.