This is a post I wrote some time ago and then didn't bother to post. So here it is, late:
What then, I ask you, dear readers. What then?
Yesterday as I was beautifying myself (read removing perfectly good, perfectly natural hair from my person) I was thinking about all the effort that I put into my appearance. Things to be plucked, cut, painted, powdered, filed, waxed, shaved, curled, washed- sometimes twice in different substances, dried, straightened, moisturized, deodorized, and perfumed. And I am not even a high maintenance girl.
And I don't even do all of these things for myself. In fact, tomorrow I'm having a stranger scrub the rough spots off of my feet, trim my toenails, and decorate them. (Newsflash! I can reach my own feet.)
How on Earth did this all come about? This week I bought face wash, body wash, shaving cream, shampoo, toothpaste, TWO kinds of lotion and powder made from beetle bits to put above my eyes (in order that people will say, "Well Gladys, look at how BROWN those eyes are. They are precisely as brown as poo. Or maybe dirt."), and a sponge that looks a little bit like an alien sheep.
If you think about the fact that I make essentially no money, less than your average American citizen, and yet I manage to spend x energy and y time and z resources.
This morning I:
brushed my teeth
washed my hair
conditioned my hair
washed my face with one soap
and body with another
anointed myself with THREE different lotions
used 2 kinds of powder
blow dried my hair with TWO different dryers
straitened my hair
used hair product
used brow gel
applied 3 shades of eyeshadow
curled my eye lashes
applied clear mascara
filled my nalgene bottle
walked out the door
Sure this is a bit more effort than I put in every day, but on days when I meet with clients I like to look professional.
Here is a simulation of what I assume Steve did this morning.
played with himself
washed hair (possibly more)
brushed his teeth
put on clothes
wandered out confusedly
I, like morning Steve, am confused by why I feel I must shave or pluck my hair. Why I wear colored dust above my eyes. Why people feel like I should.
Meh... I guess I neither understand, nor enjoy "being a girl". But it could be worse; there are scarier places to be a girl than America today. (Although reality TV may yet convince me otherwise.)