You know how on some mornings you wake up and there is just nothing to be done about how haggard you look? Something about your aging face just won't mold back together into that charmingly quasi-wrinkled visage you're used to staring at in the mirror.
I am not sure what happened while I was sleeping last night. Did I smoke a hundred packs of cigarettes while laying in a tanning bed in a room dehumidified enough to preserve Mayan mummies? Did a twenty year time warp happen directly over my sleeping face? Did I just... not sleep very well? I don't know. But whatever it was swooped down upon me and did a dance of the Devil just under my eyes.
Now I know I should be all feministy about this and be like, "I AM BEAUTIFUL NO MATTER WHAT." and "HUGE GAPING DARK CIRCLES UNDER MY EYES AND WRINKLES AROUND MY MOUTH MAKE ME LOOK GORGEOUS AND REAL AND LIKE A TRUE LADY."
But fuck that noise.
I looked terrible when I got up this morning, and that feeling of looking terrible settled into me like some kind of seeping, sad-inducing face plague. I don't even care if no one is going to see me today. I don't even care if my only jobs today are to ferry my kids around town while trying to write about getting a pack of grouchy gnomes into and out of a forest. (Coincidence? Hmm.) Even if no one is going to see my face, I will see my face. And I don't want it to look like a sad old lady with face plague. I don't care if that is un-feministy. Some days I'm cool with being tired-looking and wrinkled and whatever. Today is not one of those days.
So. What to do?
I opted to settle for a nice hot shower, some eye cream and eyeliner, and then a cup of cold brew coffee. The shower and the coffee worked out OK, but something went off the rails with the eye stuff. I'm not sure what happened, but now, instead of looking like a haggard 36-year-old woman, I look like a combination of Brian Williams from NBC News when he had those negative-Raccoon eyes from wearing ski goggles, and Cleopatra.
(two side notes: 1) I don't know if Brian Williams's negative-Raccoon eyes actually come from getting a suntan around ski goggles, but this is how I imagine they appear. They seem to be seasonal. 2) when I wrote 36-year-old, I accidentally first typed 360year-old, which might be closer to true.)
Next time I should probably drink the coffee and then do the eyeliner. This has been noted.
Now I sit here at my computer, with my Brian Williams/Cleopatra eyes, my highball of iced coffee (leaving a ring of condensation on my son's school folder that states very plainly "return folder to school" even as it lays helplessly on the couch) and I am wondering if I will be able to get anything done today. Can I successfully ferry the kids home from school? Will I get the gnomes into and out of the forest? Why isn't there anyone in the house to feed me? What is wrong with my voice today? I think that last question can work both figuratively and literally. (I have Brian Williams/Cleopatra eyes and a Bea Arthur/gravel truck voice. I AM A HOT MESS, Y'ALL.)
Is there a conclusion to this blog post? I don't know. I just wish I knew that, as I aged, bad hair days would be one-upped by bad face days. No one tells you about bad face days, do they? Just like no one tells you about sex farts or how when you get older and get those wrinkles on your face from sleeping on crumpled fabric, the wrinkles take FOREVER to go away instead of going away instantly like when you are a supple young thing.
So, supple young things, listen up: bad face days are going to happen. Come up with a game plan. Augment the game plan with coffee. Good luck.
I am off to write about gnomes. And maybe I will yell some choice Golden Girls quotes at the dog, because really, this voice should not go to waste.
Happy Wednesday, nerds. Enjoy your faces while you can.