Monday, May 16, 2011

Feeling Good In my own Skin

Before this morning, I thought I'd peaked in the whole "feeling good in my own skin" thing back when I was jumping around like a mad woman in front of seventh graders in my 20s. I mean, even principals and superintendents could not deter me from teaching tone, vocabulary, or grammar while dressed in odd outfits and/or possibly having taped poster board pieces to myself for emphasis.

But today? Today! After slathering my tissue-chafed nose up with Neosporin? I left the house and walked myself to work, head held high and everything. I am not so blind that I can't see the tip of my oh so red and irritated nose from a weekend of non-lotioned tissues (as an aside, um, scientists of the world? Seriously? We've been around how many thousands of years and the closest we've come to not shredding up our drippy noses are tissues coated with some slimy stuff that STILL irritate - and even more so if what you are suffering from is an allergic reaction to a very pretty kitty cat so that even the lotion is making you sneeze and you have to go back to the sandpaper that is non-lotioned facial tissue?)

I will admit, it is hard to work the sexy knowing my nose is Rudolph red (and yes, rather shiny, thanks to the Neosporin). But either I've reached and demolished some mental threshhold, or I'm still too sick to care. I'd like to think it's the first.

Case in point:
A friend had a "Mad-Men-Esque" themed birthday party. I don't know if I have the cajones to post the picture here, but I went as as "Joan" wannabe. Except maybe my hair made me look like a 1960s stewardess more than an office sex pot. Well, that and the fact that I'm about 15 years older than anyone on that show and probably should have gone for the matronly mom-look with pill-box hat and conservative suit instead of the ruby red top belted (!) over a long black skirt (thank you spanx for your support). Way more figure defining than the usual slacks-and-t-shirt-like blouses I normally wear. But maybe it was the spanx talking, I dunno, or maybe it was because all the other ladies-in-pearls (of course!) looked as uncomfortable as I felt, but by the end of the night, along with being ever-so-grateful that I didn't have to wear as much makeup or updo my hair on a daily basis, I thought, if I had to? I could totally do this "dress up" thing on a regular basis. I know I don't look "LA hot." But heh, maybe that's why I live in Seattle?

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