It leaves the rest of us wondering, does that woman even LOOK in the mirror before she walks out the door? I have answer for you: Yes, WE do, but we are too tired, too busy, or a little of both, to care. I am convinced I am morphing into this friend, acquaintance or female relative of yours.
Here's the sad part: I know full good and well that my 6 minute quickie make up application will most likely leave me resembling a circus clown in some way, but I just don't care anymore. I'm 39 years old man. I got this damn gaggle of girls. I just can't keep up with all that anymore.
If I get a work out in, it's a good day. If I get a work out in, and get some errands done, it's a really good day. If I get a work out in, get some errands done, AND get a shower to apply my make up in an erratic fashion, now that's a STELLAR day.
If you've participated with me in ANY extra-curricular activities that are not listed above, (day trips of any kind, including but not limited to: the beach, the pool, Raging Waters, the river, some one's backyard BBQ, talking smack while I play cards, or dancing irresponsibly), you have probably noticed that my eyeliner is smeared down my face. Or maybe you've realized that my eyebrows have been penciled in to a place where no eyebrow grows.
I just want to say thanks for still being friends with me. Seriously, I appreciate you letting that go. But I do have one request for you: if I have a big booger dangling from my extremely expansive nostril, and you don't say shit, then the friendship is off, understand? UNDERSTAND?
It's all too much to keep up with, this being a girl thing. There are grey roots to be concealed every 4 weeks at home. The girls always stare with trepidation when they see Mama's home color application in the works...but they are all too scared to ask questions, so they scurry off to play outdoors.
About 3 times a year, I remember that I should probably apply some sort of hydrating mask to my rapidly decaying face. If I'm donning the glow white "hydrating/erase wrinkles/supple skin" mask WHILE coloring my hair simultaneously, well, that's just all sorts of pretty right there. I have scared the holy hell out of the twins more than once. They will come around the corner, and scream. LOUD.
There are eyebrows to contain into some sort of arched shape, and chin hairs to be plucked. Lotion to be applied so I don't resemble some sort of aged piece of leather. Speaking of leather, sunscreen is a must these days. But you don't want to put the sunscreen designed for your BODY on your FACE...you need special facial sunscreen for that! What? You didn't know that? That's okay, neither did I until just recently.
I haven't even mentioned all the body hair that needs to be removed. UGH. I have also totally given up wearing any and all accessories, with the exception of my wedding ring. Why would I put on a necklace? So that Charlotte could lynch me with her sharpened infantile skills while nursing? No thank you.
And you know what else? Perfume is totally over-rated. How do you even make a God damn decision? Should I wear J.Lo? Or Britney? Maybe Gwen Stefani has created something lovely. Or perhaps I should stick with movie star scents like Halle? Man, these days, my deodorant doubles as my eau de toilet.
Remember Love's Baby Soft?? Starting at about age 12, I would lightly spritz myself with that EVERY DAY. It was like an un-spoken but religious habit, that meant: I, Michelle Francois, could once again, face the world and be okay. Me and Love's Baby Soft, together. But the spritzing only took place after my hair was feathered just so, and my comb was carefully placed in my back pocket. With my fruity tube of Lip Smackers in my front pocket, I was convinced that it's sparkly shine, clearly show-cased my braces. This was also right around the same time that I just stopped wearing my glasses. Did I trade them in for contact lenses, you ask? No. I made this decision with swift accuracy: being blind was better than having to wear those damn things.
By the time I was 17, I had become a complete and total unmanageable teenager. Love's Baby Soft had worn out its welcome, and it was clear what I needed to do at that point: trade it in for something more edgy. Like Exc!amation. And folks, it's been all downhill from there.
It is a trip watching this transformation take place with Abigail and Isabella. I keep hoping and praying (REALLY HARD), that they will not, under any circumstances: grow breasts, get their period, or get their hearts broken by some complete idiot boy.
Stay 11. Stay innocent and young. Love origami for far too long. Dress up like Laura Ingalls with no worry of who might care. Sing all the wrong lyrics to Lady Gaga's new song, because you can.
I think I need to go buy some Love's Baby Soft. Maybe that will stop this thing, they call "growing up".
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