This post does not reside in the past. It is part of the every day. It has been the part of a woman’s life since she was too young to recall. And it has become the norm. As I went to get ready for a Saturday spent with my little family, the husband remarked to the son “we gotta let Mommy get ready. She takes FOREVER.”
If I didn’t take FOREVER, I would resemble:
I do so love to bust a move. But maybe this is an exaggeration. Maybe Teen Wolf (not the new one, but the Michael J. Fox one) is a more precise representation.
Either way, I am not a mythical hairless creature. Tweezers, wax, shaving, Nair, and a million other products play into the fact that yes, it does take forever. This does not include the time it takes so I can be oh, so pretty.
See, I don’t look entirely like Chewbacca. It all takes time. I worry my son will develop into a man and will ask the all important man question.
Hell no, I am not ready yet. We are going out into the world, my child. And it takes time. I like to have my face on. I like to not resemble either Chewbacca or Teen Wolf. I like when my husband says “your legs feel nice.” I like to feel pretty and somewhat presentable. So yes, I do take forever. I am not the mythical hairless creature. I do not wake up beautiful and confident while ready to take on the world. I wake up with a frizzy mane, and it needs tamed. I wake up with no makeup (shock and awe) but I wake happy to transform into woman. Bear with your momma, son. It’s going to be awhile.