Why Bother?
Originally published at Welcome To The Dollhouse. You can comment here or there.
Ever since the months of steroids, feeling like crud, and dealing with hypertension and other maladies, my general approach to my appearance has been “why bother?”
This is not to say that I leave the house wearing raggedy sweats and days of body odor. Not at all. I’m clean. My clothes are clean. But the pains I use to take to enhance myself have gone by the wayside.
I was getting my nails done last Sunday (still do that otherwise they fall off) and the woman asked me if I wanted my eyebrows waxed. Though its been about 700 years since my last waxing, my answer was, “why bother?” It just didn’t feel worth the effort since the wheels have already come off the track, as it were. And we won’t even speak of the dire condition of my feet that need about 70 pedicures before they look human again.
AdoringHusband is all, “stop putting yourself down!” but the truth is that I don’t think I am. I’m just feeling that these acts, these embellishments that I used to do because they enhanced how I felt about the person I saw in the mirror are just no longer worth it. I’m old, too heavy, and too tired to bother.
But today, something felt a little different. Today, here in N’awlins for a conference, I woke, showered and suddenly thought, how about putting on some mascara and lipstick? And before I could even mentally say, why bother?, I ran to my trusty travel makeup bag that sits alone and unloved in my suitcase and grabbed the eyeliner and mascara. Took a second and I had lashes and defined eyes. Another second and I had some peachy gloss on the kisser.
First though upon regarding myself in the mirror was, good for you. Though I did hear someone in my head muttering, you shouldn’t have bothered, I chose to ignore it.