I Blame Men
I’m getting ready to take the kiddies on a shopping trip for nice things to wear to my in-laws 50th Wedding Anniversary/Vow Renewal party in Minnesota later this week. We’re strictly a jeans, t-shirt and sweatpants kind of family in the cooler months, so each each kid (and I) need new togs top-to-bottom.
This, of course, means Wal-Mart’s out of the question. Instead, we’re heading to a new mall in the area, one where the stores are staffed by girls whose civility is meted out in direct proportion to the apparent cash a shopper has to spend. And that means I have to look nice.
As any woman can tell you, looking nice starts in places other people won’t even see. I don’t know why, that’s just how it is. So off went the chipped toenail polish I’d been wearing since August. I broke out the nail clippers, too. Then it was time to defuzz my legs in the shower. Dear God, why can’t they make a razor that doesn’t fall apart the third time it crashes to the shower floor?
But the pain doesn’t stop there. Oh, no. After showering, it was time for some one-on-one attention to each of my eyebrows. Pluck, sneeze, pluck, sneeze, pluck, sneeze, cuss. Once the redness fades and the tears dry, I still have all that blowdrying, curling and spraying of hair, not to mention mirror time with my makeup box.
The other day a friend boasted she’d whittled her out-the-door routine down to just under two hours. I felt smug. I’ve pared mine down to a mere forty minutes. I mentioned this to my husband, who reminded me his routine is so short it’s not even measured in double-digits.
I’m thinking of painting his nails while he sleeps, just to slow him down a bit.
*never tease someone who is dieting* *never tease someone who is dieting* *never tease...
You definitely don’t get to talk to my wife.
She’s been raising hell for years that it takes me less than ten minutes to get out the door. With just the slightest bit of encouragement I fear she’d not only paint my toenails but apply those home wax strips to my legs.
Oooh, wax strips. I hadn’t thought of those.
…sympathies, VK. Every year the maintenance seems to take longer…I’m afraid at some point in time I’ll look in the mirror and see a frightful looking seahag staring back at me and snickering at me to get the Bondo out.
Thank God for husbands who truly think we are beautiful, whether in the 9th month of pregnancy and doing our best beached whale impressions, or without a stitch on in all our imperfect glory.
Amen to that, Dana! I haven’t even blogged about my going-to-bed routine which takes 20+ minutes compared to VH’s which takes less than one.
Considering how much time I have to spend in the bathroom these days, it’s shocking I still haven’t gotten around to repainting our bathroom from the Pepto Bismal pink it was when we bought the place. A pretty color, to be sure, but it’s not flattering at all to me.
Listen, VK, I win the ugliest bathroom hands-down (think Winchester House (google it) done by a crosseyed senile 80 year old who thought mid-50’s decor cohabitating with the Gilded Age was as chi-chi as it gets). Anyway, I periodically grouse to the hub that if we had a beautiful bathrooom I would feel beautiful when I looked into the mirror and therefore would actually look more beautiful which would of course cause him to be the winner in the end! And this would only cost approximately $15 grand, and isn’t my beauty worth it to him, hm?!
So far, no go….just the same ol, same ol “you always look beautiful to me”, smooze….but I’m happy as a clam to fall for that line, again and again and again!
I don’t have to Google it! I grew up near the Winchester Mysetry House, Dana.
Saratoga, as a matter of fact.
And I 100% understand on the “you look beautiful no matter what” thing. Used to tick me off, to spend that much time every morning trying to get all fixed up. Then I decided to take VH at his word. Glory be! I rarely bother with makeup at home now, and I’m as comfortable in sweats as he is. Who knew he actually meant it?!!
Still, when I go out I realize the rest of the world’s not as up-front and adoring as my fine husband. So I shaved, plucked and painted today… and got some amazing service, I might add.
But I’m back home in my sweats, t-shirt and bare face now, and I’m so grateful to have a hubby who still thinks I’m beautiful that way despite what the magazines tell him he’s ’sposed to think.
“despite what the magazines tell him he’s ’sposed to think.” …but the real smudge of the mascara isn’t what men are told – its what women tell other women through the mags, stars, etc. The fair sex sabotages their own kind with ridiculous expectations and demands for perfection. Men (no offense intended to any men present) are to some degree, merely reactors in this game. Women play a mean game and no one is happy with what she looks like – just look at the covers of the women’s magazines in the market, they are sure to tell us where we’re lacking in beauty, sexuality, weight, etc. What a sly breed of cat we are !
Mrs. Foxy takes 10 minutes, max, and she is always the most drop dead gorgeous woman anywhere we go.
On top of that, she HATES diamonds, which makes her the perfect woman in my book. (She doesn’t want to wear anything that someone had to smuggle out of a mine in their butt to feed their family).
I definately married up.
Indeed! I’m an emerald, pearl and platinum fan myself.
But 10 minutes? Oh, my friend, you definitely DID marry up.