I think a bit of clarification on my last post is in order.
Since reaching majority, I never have, nor ever will, give a flying fig about what others think of how I choose to present myself. This attitude is a direct legacy from my Mother (along with my curly hair, love of books, penchant for tea, & inflated vocabulary.) It is also one of the benefits of not being an adolescent anymore- I don’t really care about fitting into society’s current definition of fashion.
I wear the clothes I feel comfortable in (with the added benefit of no VPL & wardrobe malfunctions) &, while not the height of style, are clean, classic, & coordinated. I don’t wear much jewelry- my wedding ring & a watch are my staples, but rarely wear earrings at work, because they just get in my way- the hoops were a birthday gift from my co-worker.
As for my face, at the risk of sounding immodest, I really don’t need to wear makeup on a regular basis. I’ve been blessed with good genes (from where I’m not certain- Mother’s face has more creases than a sharpei puppy) & an aversion to tanning, so other then a little darkness around the eyes, some remnants of childhood freckles, & the occasional pimple, there isn’t much to camouflage. When I do wear makeup, it’s limited to mineral foundation, a little blusher, & some mascara; even that is a bit of a bother- first time I blow my nose (which I do quite often through the day) half of it comes off. My usual concession is when I’m being the “face person” leading worship, giving tours at the museum, or a social event.
No, my objection to these reoccurring exercises in “style intervention” is the disproportionate self-importance, rampant incivility, & unmitigated gall displayed by people who feel they have the right to voice their unsolicited critique of another person’s appearance & choices (Oh my- Mother’s vocabulary is in rare form today!) Now, if I had been fishing for compliments or been foolish enough to ask, “How do I look?” then I admit I would be fair game. But the fact is, I have repeatedly & politely (for the most part) discouraged these discussions, along with other declarations that I should shorten my skirts, color my hair, & “do something” with my fingernails. Now, I’m all for freedom of speech- Lord knows, I “freely speak” my mind on a variety of subjects often enough- but these types of comments are just plain rude. This is a point where the old adage “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all” comes into play; if you don’t care for the way someone is dressed, mind your own business- smile politely & get back to work (not that any of you would be this crass or insensitive- the “you” I’m talking to is “out there” in the big, bad world outside my Garden.)
My second point of clarification is much shorter; I’m not worried about my dreams- I understand that my subconscious is still trying to reconcile my Christian beliefs in the sanctity of marriage, with my unbridled joy that I’m no longer tied to the taciturn, inflexible, curmudgeonly father of my two oldest children- I was just curious to know if other ex-wives have the same kind of dreams or am I uniquely individual on this front.
On a completely different subject, I ordered a new camera on Friday & it should be arriving by the weekend. I put the purchase on Chris’ credit card- which I don’t like doing after what happened before- but after the fiasco Friday morning, I decided to bite the bullet. What was that? I didn’t tell you about Friday morning? Oh, dear~ well, pull up a stool!
Our friend, The Great Pretender, has been running a weekly photo game for several weeks now, & last week’s assignment was to take a picture of your hair care products. She posts the pictures on her Space & people come to guess to which blogger each one belongs. I’ve missed the past couple of weeks (for obvious reasons), but really wanted to do this one, since it had been my suggestion. Unfortunately, I forgot about it.
Until Friday morning.
As I was coming out of the shower.
Shoot! I told her that I’d be posting this week- I wonder if it’s already done?
So, wrapped in a towel, hair still dripping, I scurry downstairs & turn on the computer- there is an email from GP, saying she’s waiting for my photo before posting this week.
Blast! I’ve got to find Sam’s camera right now!
So I creep into his room, followed by Dahlia & Poppy, who proceed to have a hissing match with Violet; fortunately, no blows were exchanged, but it was loud enough to wake a 16-year-old boy on summer vacation. Yep- that loud.
We begin to search his room for the MIA camera; the fact that he didn’t question why we were looking for his camera at 6:45 am testifies either to his inate knowledge of his mother’s idiosyncrasies or his semi-conscious state. It was finally located in his tennis bag (don’t ask me!) & snatching it from his hand, I scamper back into the bathroom to take the photograph.
I then dash back downstairs- still in my bath sheet- to download the photo; problem is, I’ve never used this camera & can’t seem to locate the memory card. I have to call Sam; he stumps down stairs, pops the card out, and then hands it to me with a faintly disgruntled look & a definite growl. I thank him politely (hey- it’s not my fault he stayed up until after 1:00 am watching some movie!)
I readjust my bath sheet & sit down to insert the memory card, when I encounter the second technical problem- this card is a different format then my old camera & I can’t see a media card slot that resembles this one. I briefly considered calling Sam again. Very briefly. Then just started trying different slots, praying it wouldn’t get damaged or sucked into the CPU, triggering a message that flashes “You dolt!” & summons the Geek Squad to my living room.
Finally, success! The slot is located, the photo is downloaded & emailed to GP, with humble apologies for my tardiness, & I go back to the bathroom to finish getting ready for work. Not only have I worked up a pre-antiperspirant sweat running around the house, my hair has dried into some fantastical Vidal Sassoon inspired style, so it’s back into the shower to start over from scratch. Fortunately it was Casual Dress day at work- dressing took less time then usual- but I still had to take care of Daisy’s shot & find something for breakfast, so I showed up a bit late.
Good thing no one chose that day to comment on my appearance- I fear my response would have not been edifying & may have contained less then erudite language.