My Google search history reads like an "As Seen on TV" commercial. Make me look 10 pounds thinner. Make me look 20 years younger. Make my ass round and amazing. Where can I buy Jeggings? Totally kidding. I refuse to wear jeggings and will openly mock you if I see you wearing them. Same goes for the pajama jeans, folks. Be a grown up. Wear real pants. The rest though... there all there right along with the search for the perfect pill to make everything higher, tighter, brighter, and POW!
When I wake in the morning I dutifully make my way to the bathroom and stare long and hard at my reflection. It's my job. I'm a slave to the mirror. It wasn't always this way, but now I'm shackled. This vanity thing is a bitch. Part of me wants to blame the media. Every day we're faced with images of 12 year old girls pretending to be 20. Their skin is perfect. Their eyes are bright and clear. They don't have laugh lines. They need the push up bra to give them cleavage and I need it to actually push my breasts up. I bet none of them have ever walked past the Spanx section in a department store and thought, "Maybe... " Bitches.
Still, I know it isn't the media that gets all the credit. Most of the blame lies squarely on my shoulders, which I've always thought were far too broad. If I had narrower shoulders I wouldn't feel compelled to carry the burden of this age thing. Let's go with that. Regardless, it's my fault. I want to get older without looking older. Is that so wrong? Is it wrong that I am jealous of anyone who can afford Botox or Juvederm? Is it wrong that I gaze longingly at ads that promote products that will lift this, tuck that, shrink those, and generally rewind the clock? Probably. I still do it though.
I do my hair on the weekends in the event that someone might stop by the house. I un-tag unflattering photos of myself on Facebook. I try not to ever leave the house without my face on unless I'm working out. I don't even workout until the evening because I don't want to risk running out of time to redo my face and hair before people see me. The undone me is about as easy to spot as a Yeti. If there were cameras in my house I'd avoid them like the plague for fear that they might capture me in my natural state. The mythical Undone-Angie has only been seen by a few people. They lived to tell about it, but they wouldn't dare because I know where they live.
The sad part is, there isn't a huge difference between me with makeup and me without makeup. Pre-makeup me just looks really tired. I know because I tried the no face thing and people kept saying, "You look really tired." So it's a fact. Not that most people would have the balls to say, "Christ on a bike what happened to your face?!" Let's just stick with tired.
It's almost dark, so I am going to throw on my workout gear. Even that stuff is designed to make me look better than the giant baggy sweat pants do. I'll probably wear the trainers with the rounded bottom that promise to reshape my ass and never do because who knows... maybe this time. I'm turning off the front porch light so people think we're not home. I don't want anyone to see me sweat.