My untamed nature often comes out in pointed ways . . .
Beauty queen I am decidedly not. Never shall be. It goes so thoroughly against my natural bent to fuss and primp for prettiness that it’s a miracle I don’t just pop out of bed and haul directly off to wherever the day should take me, entirely unimproved. But that just wouldn’t be nice. Unsuspecting people outside of my house deserve some consideration.
Ever look in the mirror and wonder just who that creature is that’s staring cryptically back at you? In my case I never doubt it’s my own image reflected, but depending upon the hour of the day (can’t promise it’s morning either when I’m willing to arise or when I’m remotely prepared for a look in the mirror) I may be only moderately willing to admit to the relationship, at best. This beast-that-is-me has no sympathy with playing princess. I’m glad to say that I think myself pleasant looking enough on the whole without any serious touch-ups, but the effects of what some jokester decided to name Beauty Sleep just make it hard sometimes for any natural niceness I possess to shine through visibly.
So I always recommend scheduling your interactions with me well after the crack of noon, just to be on the safe side. Otherwise, you may meet face-to-snout with a slightly startling character and I simply can’t promise there wouldn’t be lasting effects on your morale or sanity. I do mean well.
It’s not really my fault, but nighttime takes a toll on me that can counter the best effects of a good dream-fest abed. First, there’s the whole problem of the bed linens. While they may make the practice of lying down to pass the night more sheltered and comfy in a very welcome fashion, they also have a miraculous way of twisting themselves into a close enough facsimile of mummy wrappings that I always come out of bed wearing a series of elaborate stripes, squiggles and indentations that reconfigure me into a suspiciously mythical looking creature by morning. The Atomic Prune with Two Legs!!! Run for your lives! Somehow it seems cruel that the bed linens get to contort me mercilessly like that and yet I still have to de-contort them to get the bed back into usable form for the next night’s expedition towards forty winks.
Being from birth about as pale as a second-rate vampire, I am none too fond, either, of the proto-invisibility I achieve by sleeping my circulation down to virtual nil. Some days I fear that if I were to look into the mirror too soon after waking, I would have accomplished the full vampiric inability to see my reflection at all. It may be that I should consider building up my retirement funds by taking advantage of any temporary invisible state and become a criminal mastermind while it lasts . . . but then I remember that this would require the capability of being a mastermind along with invisibility. Never mind that, then.
My teeth grow sweaters overnight. I’m a big fan of fine cardigans, but never intended to produce them orally, let alone where they can apparently only be dismantled by brushing with a belt sander. Seems like I could be down to teeth the size of sesame seeds by the time I’m seventy at this rate. Not that I don’t like sesame seeds. Smaller and thinner than sweaters, at least. Certainly a new Look for me.
Most predictably of all, every time I look in the mirror is a new challenge to my skills for creature-identification, given the interesting and amazing things my hair can do. I wear it short both out of laziness–wash-and-wear hair is all the style I am willing to attempt–and out of vanity: I learned the hard way years ago that the long hair generally considered on other women to be a sexy beauty asset just makes me look like an inbred Afghan hound. So I go with the shorter ‘do, and it does just fine. Except overnight.
That’s when it takes on a life of its own and converts me into anything from a depressed Cheviot ewe to Dr. Seuss‘s Grinch, from an oil-slicked sea lion to an alien invader and/or Bob’s Big Boy. All of them potentially entertaining, I’ll admit, but at the same time, possibly unsettling to see in the mirror. Or is that just my insecurity speaking?
Very probably, my ruminating on it just now is merely an indicator that it’s about time I headed for the aforementioned bed. Risking, of course, whatever that contraption and my time overnight in it might chance to inflict upon my body and being. I think I can continue to cope: whatever Ma Nature dishes out I must learn to handle as best anyone can. I’ll let you know how that’s working later–but just in case, don’t stop by the house before noon!
If it's good enough for Mother Nature, it's good enough for me!
Art-Colored Glasses 
I can completely relate to the frustration with dealing with hair in the morning, which seems to have a mind of it’s own. Not that your hair is ever NOT immaculate. After my haircut last week, whenever I look in the mirror, I am always startled to see a juvenile delinquent starting back at myself, bedhair or not!
Uh-oh, maybe we’d better wear paper bags over our heads if we ever meet over breakfast! ;D
I’ll look forward to seeing your new cut!
entirely unimproved that is me, daisy does not care.. Do NOT tell anyone but sometimes i can go for DAYS without doing my hair, especially when i have let it go curly, absolutely days.
i am going to california in a few weeks and i said to john “the problem is I only have one set of good clothes to wear – for when i go shopping and have lunch in the big town once a fortnight. The rest are farm clothes and half of them are hand me ups, from kids and nieces so they don’t even fit properly .. When i go to california, I moaned to him, I will have to do my hair and dress.. every day!! In outrageous tones.
It is actually a problem!!
c
You’re not *SERIOUSLY* telling me you’re going to California short of clothes and don’t see an excellent solution in your crystal ball! Land of shopping mania, no? Doesn’t have to be terribly much; when I travel and I’m not seeing the same people every day, even if it’s for a music conference with multitudes of concerts and recitals every day so I have to ‘dress’ every time I go out-and-about, I can still operate with one pair of shoes and just a couple of interchangeable top/skirt (or black slacks) combos. Switch out tops with the same skirt on Days 1 and 2, then redo the tops with the second skirt on Days 3 and 4. Rinse. Repeat. You’re through a week with no more than fits loosely into a carry-on bag with my laptop and toiletries and a stash of chocolate. And I do soft knits so they can squash up completely without care and be washed in a hotel sink. Haven’t gotten kicked out of anything yet . . . yet . . . yet . . . ! And I’m a champion of super-cheapdom. The coat I get compliments on every single time I wear it, no matter what city or country, I bought a dozen years ago for $8 at a discount store, packs in a scrunched up wad and hangs right out, machine washes and is still fun and funky. Oh, look at me, rattling on. I jest about the shopping, of course.
Truth is, Daisy’s right. You’re utterly gorgeous as you are, and you could show up in CA in your gumboots and hand-me-ups and put the Hollywood cuties right in the shade. HAVE FUN!!!
I once swore I would never be one of those women over 45 and still wearing a ponytail, but that’s where I am, at least 6 days a week…
But, when duty – or date night! – calls, I CAN still shine… I just don’t do it much anymore. One of the joys of not having to go to a ‘town’ job at 6:30 am anymore!
It’s still amusing to have the rare occasions for glamming it up, but I’m VERY content to limit them severely! My husband’s students, singers and colleagues are quite accustomed to me showing up in clean-ish mufti and nothing like spangly froufrou–most of them are just thrilled when audience members show up! So I’m off the hook unless traveling or hitting a big event sponsored by the Dean or President or such. Ain’t it grand to have a simpler life!! (I only have to do the 6:30 thing once a week now. Yay!)
Hair taming is so tedious. I am forever seeking the holy grail of the perfect haircut for my thick hair; preferably one allows me to wash and leave it.
I have the opposite–thin, shapeless hair–so I admit I’ve got it easy. All the more so because my husband cuts my hair for me, in a cut I like a lot, though he insists it’s the only cut he knows and if I opt for something different it’ll have to be going to a shaved head like his. Bald looks great on him, though, so maybe . . . . 😉
I have the opposite–thin, shapeless hair–so I admit I’ve got it easy. All the more so because my husband cuts my hair for me, in a cut I like a lot, though he insists it’s the only cut he knows and if I opt for something different it’ll have to be going to a shaved head like his. Bald looks great on him, though, so maybe . . . . 😉