I worked at the bookstore today, wearing my alma mater’s sweat shirt, blue jeans and no make up. If anyone had a problem with it, I was prepared to tell them where they could put their complaint. When I wake up at seven o’clock to walk to a job where I lift boxes of books, ring up books, and dump the boxes that once held books into dumpsters . . . I suppose I have no desire to look cute.
But alas, you know that saying: “If you look good, you feel good.” I knew I looked like a bum and so I feel like my mood reflected it. I felt a little sullen and unattractive. Is there truth to that adage? Will looking pretty increase my productivity? In some weird depressing way, it might.
Tonight is going to be a night I will dedicate to self-pampering. I have a set of curl formers and spiral rods that I finally want to try. It’s possible that I might want to document the process for all of you. I might paint my nails some winter color like merlot. I might drink a glass of whiskey too.
There might be something to this self-beautification that women need in order to feel their best. I don’t put a whole lot of stock in this, but I am conscious of the fact that I ask Noah: “I know we’re about to go out, but you don’t mind if I look like a bum do you?” Of course, he never minds, but later, I’m the one who feels like they didn’t try hard enough that day.
Tomorrow is always a new day, right? If I’m discovered by a modeling agency at the ripe age of 27, I’ll owe it all to tonight’s self-beautification project. Ta-ta!