I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m a fraud.
My fingernails and toenails are not naturally glittery, pale pink. Certain parts of my anatomy do not, in their natural state, ride quite as high as they appear by day. If left to its own devices, my hair is an interesting combination of dark brown and silvery grey.
Due to an unexplained overnight event, yesterday became hair coloring day. Normally I perform this unpleasant but necessary (I think) task on Fridays, my day off. I almost got the box of dye out last Friday, but it was just a little premature. Grey roots were threatening, but not quite showing. I figured it could wait a week. But Sunday morning I woke up with grey roots everywhere. Not an acceptable situation, heading into a week when I’d be attending both a conference and a concert. So my Sunday afternoon down time turned into hair coloring time. As always, the entire house was filled with the noxious fumes that emanated from my head for 40 minutes.
The rest of the family finds my grooming routines pretty amusing. Apparently I look fairly ridiculous with my hair piled up and glopped with dye. I used to pick the kids up after school on a Friday and they’d greet me with a deep sniff and the words, “Did you color your hair today?” My antics after painting my nails, while trying to let them dry fully, are always good for a laugh. Other than getting a kick out of the oddities of the routines themselves, The Husband couldn’t care less whether my nails are pretty or my hair is as dark as it was the day he met me.
Coloring my hair and painting my nails are annoying tasks, and time-consuming, too. But I do them anyway. These rituals are inexpensive and make me feel better about myself. I don’t feel old, so why should I look old? Nothing wrong with trying to look more like the age I feel, right? I mean, as long as I avoid the unforgivable mom fashion faux pas of mistaking leggings for pants…