I’m up early again. There is no reason to wake at 5:30am but I can never get back to sleep and so it ends up being the start time for the day sometimes. It’s still a little early for the make-up routine. I wonder why I bother with it to be honest. I suppose most people prefer to look their best on most days, regardless of the company. It’s natural to want to look nice when you have to be out around others. I must see hundreds of people each weekday, and thousands during an especially eventful day. That means that many people can potentially also see me and so I make the effort to look nice.
Of course, it’s more than that. I throw my own little touches into it. I like my clothing to look a certain way. I like more contrasting makeup than needed for my skin tone. All black with a little splash of red about sums up my daily fashion routine. A buckle here, a chain there, some fishnet all over if I’m really feeling it. I enjoy getting ready for the day though I acknowledge the fact that it’s all rather silly. It’s unnecessary. I could just get up in the morning, brush my hair and pull it back, throw on some clothes and walk right out the door. I envy all people who do just that each morning. It would free up at least half an hour each morning when I could just read or write or sleep in (ha!). I’m not even unattractive without it all. It’s just some strange compulsion to crayola up my face in the mornings and put on pretty things. I like to look like I made the effort.
“Beautiful.” It shouldn’t matter, but it’s a word I have heard most of my life. I never quite understood it. In a mirror I appear plain if not awkward to myself. I have plenty of imperfections and insecurities. I also know that it will fade with time. Skin deep beauty is a temporary condition; we all age and wither away. However people have called me beautiful since I was young like it was this thing I should be proud of and protect. “Enjoy it while it lasts!” Comments about my complexion, eyes, face, long legs, and general figure made their way to me on numerous occasions. Even when I was heavier the compliments didn’t stop. I was just a beautiful “thick” and “curvy” gal then.
It’s a strange word every time I hear it. There are days when the word itself bothers me. A compliment, motivation and an annoying contract I have made with the world to make sure I get up and dress it up a little more every damned morning. Why do I bother? Why do I climb on a scale and call it a success when I see it has stayed consistently in the 126 range? Why the nice fitting outfits? Why the mascara and the red, red lipstick? I guess enough older female pack leaders did the same things. The same morning routines. I was told to hang onto beauty like it would somehow be valuable to me down the road. Take care of yourself. Moisturize. Stay thin. Don’t let yourself go, make the effort. Show the world that you’re prepared and ready. Try to always be beautiful.
A fat load of good it did me. I’m just another broke working mom struggling with making ends meet and keeping people happy (I always fall short of both by about forty-three cents). Still, I’m going to make the effort. Because it’s fun and well, why not? 😉