Who do I think I am — Beth Cox Chambers?
As you’ve heard me whine ad nauseam for the last few months, I’ve been working ridiculous, stressful, overloaded hours. Much of it is my own fault; great creative ideas + never having learned to say “no” = more work for me. But I’m tired. Drained. I haven’t been taking care of myself. I feel frumpy, mopey, sleepy, grumpy — all seven drawfs rolled into one worn-out body. So what’s a girl to do? I go deep and spiritual: I make an appointment to get a cute spring ‘do.
I wake up, ready for a morning at the salon. I’m going to wear my new skirt with that fabulous necklace I just got in Athens, play the girlie card today. I hop in the shower — no water (what complex shuts off the water for plumbing repairs on Saturday morning???). A cute spring skirt doesn’t go with unwashed skin, so I throw on jeans, a cami, an old beau’s workshirt, no makeup — not even earrings (which in my world means nearly naked). I dash to my salon — an upscale, yet surprisingly affordable, shop where the stylists dress in black couture — looking a bit like I’ve given up, or that I’m dating Amy Ray. And sitting in front of that huge mirror, with all that light shining on me while my shorn curls drift to the floor, I get more and more disgusted with myself.
Nena does a great job with my hair, and I feel better — but not quite cute enough. So I stop to chat with the salon’s makeup artist. Suni’s great. She has her own line, and I’ve worn her makeup for several months. I tell her I need some eye shadow, so we start playing with colors. She loves my dramatic coloring and the new cut, so we keep playing — lipsticks, bronzers, creams, brushes, the whole shebang. I’m having fun … I feel cute … the girlie genes wake up … I just got my bonus and two freelance checks … so I buy it all. A girl needs to splurge, right?
And then I hit the counter. When I heard the total, I OMIGODed at yelp level. I’m too embarrassed to tell you how much I spent (I confessed to Karen, and that’s it) … but let’s just say those funds could have bought that antique rocker. I’m standing there, looking great with my mouth agape, actually praying that my credit card says NO WAY! — but, sadly, Capital One is happy to see me looking so good. Where are those annoying Vikings when you need them?
I’ve spent the last couple of hours justifying the two bags of makeup I bought this morning. I need a girlie splurge every once in a while, right? I’ll wear all this makeup for ages, and I won’t need to hit the Walgreen’s aisle until Christmas. I want him to think I look adorable, as cute as I was 20 years ago. The lotions and creams will make me look healthy, happy, relaxed, younger. It’s fun to feel rich for a day.
But I could have bought a sofa.
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