I was in the school introductory meeting this week and the lady in front of me had luxurious blonde hair. I’ll assume she dyes it because underneath the lovely soft yellow was a leedle bit of dish water along the fringes (pardon me if you have blonde hair that is naturally dishy along the edges and it’s completely natural). It looked so soft and shiny, so clean. My hair is clean, but I don’t use commercial shampoos so that’s one of the reasons it isn’t salon styled very much – I also don’t have as many chemicals floating in my bloodstream like I used to. I could smell some of those chemicals coming out of my arm pits before I stopped using shampoo and deodorant! My hair is also shiny and soft, the shiniest and softest it has ever been. It’s also the smoothest it has ever been thanks to vinegar, but I have big hair and so it doesn’t always sit just right or be supermodel lovely. I have to constantly remind myself that supermodels may be on drugs, their hair is full of chemicals and the pictures I see of them may not even be real. And back in the day, when I was young, thin and carefree – before kids, obviously – I finally asked my hairdresser about her gorgeously shiny hair. Chemicals! I was flabbergasted, and obviously naive.
I must have a complex, I often think that everyone else is more grown up than I am, with their shiny hair and clean clothes.
My clothes were clean last night, I got dressed for the meeting while the boys were outside. That was after we were drawing with chalk on the driveway then apparently rolling around on it – I was filthy! I took a risk kissing the boys good-bye since they were super dirty when we were ready to leave, but we turned up (a little late because Husband couldn’t decide what to wear) clean and respectable, and yet the lady in front looked more than I felt. Phooey. I was wearing a nice dress, why should I care about her nonchalance? I chose my shoes and accessories based on what I like, rather than what I think other people might think. And yet. I’m in my mid-30s (!gasp!) and have recently, somewhat gracefully accepted my appearance, I can throw around the word ‘vagina’ with the best of them now, most of the time, so I have pretty much grown up. And yet. There is still a yet. I forget that when I am having a great day, someone who is not having one of their own sees me, and I see people having a great day when I may not be. So take that ‘yet’.