Jason and I are standing at the Ulta counter because I promised the girls I'd find Delaney a decent straightening iron and Frog a good round brush/drying brush and the VERY YOUNG girl is kind enough to tell me that since I'm opening an account to save myself 30% or 35% (I don't remember, I paid it off the minute I got home), she'll select a few things from the huge selection of exclusive skin and/or hair care free gifts to give me.
Today, I opened up a little tube she gave me only to see it's... wrinkle cream. WRINKLE CREAM. I died laughing. Apparently she thinks I'm old kids. That sweet little 20 something apparently viewed my unmade-up visage and decided that besides a lightweight hair oil for my obviously drying tresses, "radiant exfoliator" for my pathetically dull skin, hydrating spray to brighten my face and gentle foaming cleanser, this old bag need wrinkle cream to save me from the ravages of my 48 years on this planet.
God love her efforts.
"Have you heard of Mario-what's-his-nuts?" (not his real name, I still can't tell you whom she was referring to) she asked sweetly as she held up a nauseatingly sparkly, velvety cosmetic bag with little bottles of "free gifts" to aid my aging face.
"No, I haven't." I smiled through my mask, polite and just trying to get out of there and not miss the Duck game.
"Have you heard of "Verb-Ghost-who-gives-a-shit?" (I'll admit I'm staring at the card thingy right now because I want it to say "approved" and "remove card" so I can make kick-off).
"Nope."
"Clarins?" (She's sounding slightly less friendly now, but trying still).
"Um, I've heard that name before"
"Oh great! Well, I'll give you all of this, you're approved and you're set!! Thanks so much and we'll see you again soon".
Folks, if she can't tell by the fact that I'm standing there in zero make up, in yoga pants and a Duck t-shirt and my long hair in a knot on top of my head that my beauty routine on WORK days is LITERALLY two minutes parked in my ex husband's driveway, in his guest bathroom or in a school parking lot in between one of two school drop offs and there will be no returning for ANY beauty products, she's got a lot of learning to do in the art of observation.
I wasn't always this way, true. In middle school, I think my sister got tired of waiting for me to finish my hair and makeup. My mother thought it would take a putty knife to remove my eyeliner. In high school, it went by mood. Some days, I used enough AquaNet to single handedly destroy the Ozone Layer and probably drove up our electric bill with the hairdryer and applied enough eyeliner to make Robert Smith of The Cure jealous. But by the end of high school, save the formal dances, I counted on the weight of my hair to straighten it, the California sun to highlight it ,and, tired of the makeup required in cheer and drama, mastered the art of either makeup done in 2 minutes or loving the "makeup" that sunshine and freckles afforded me (ie. none). I had lost the desire to fit in and rather relished "bucking the system" whenever I could.
Starting in college and ever since, make-up has been kinda... optional. I just don't care enough. I'll admit it. I have better things to do than style my hair and my face. Or I'm lazy. Take your pick. Call it what you want. Lazy, don't care, low maintenance. I don't know. I'm just not that girl. About anything. I don't do brand names, or fashion, or purses, or dressing up. I don't care about fancy restaurants (in fact, I'd rather find a good hole in the wall). I don't do resorts (I'd rather find a fishing cabin in the middle of nowhere). Starting at about at 18, I found me. I likes shoes, sure, just funky ones that no one else has, even if they come from a thrift shop or look like they come from 1939. I might like to wear a dress to work, but mostly because it's comfortable, or funky, or has polka dots, or pinstripes... but not because of who made it, or because of what it cost. I do not have the time to apply makeup for an hour. Not even 20 minutes. If my job didn't require a more professional appearance, I'd live in Duck T-shirts, Vintage finds, Hot Topic weirdness, Doc Martens or bare feet with my hair in two buns on top of my head with hair sticks.
You know the moments I've felt most beautiful lately? Friday night, as I walked toward my husband in an $8 vintage store sweater I stole from my daughter and his eyes lit up at how I looked in it. Thursday morning as I laughed with my stepdaughter Delaney in a Starbucks as we had breakfast together and I had yet to put my makeup on (I did it after I dropped her off, in 2 minutes, parked on the side of a street). As I did a RIDICULOUS dance to make my son William laugh on registration day so his school ID picture wouldn't look like a damn mug shot and I had no makeup on and my hair in two "space buns" on top of my head. As I posed next to my stepson Jayden after watching him play football and I'm in a giant sweatshirt and Doc Martens that I threw on after work and my hair is in a hasty ponytail or bun or something, I don't remember. As I walked in the Rose Garden with Frog and my sister and took pictures of flowers... no make up, bike shorts, long shirt, tennis shoes, hoodie.
My beauty routine is smiling, love, my family, positivity. My riches are the air I breathe, the people I love and things like fishing, Duck football, walking my dogs, laughing.
You can try to sell me Oil of Old Lady (as my cousin Pam calls it) or Wrinkle Creams or ridiculously priced cosmetics or procedures all you want. You can try to convince me that I could benefit from different clothes or a better eye to fashion. You can try to tell me to act my age. You can call me weird or convince me that I should get pedicures or exfoliate or cover my grays or, or, or.
Sorry, though, I can't hear you over all the fun I'm having living the good life.
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