Sarah’s blog goes naked, without a pixel of pictures, because her writing is that sexy. Smart, funny, and of course beautiful, her soul is as well rounded as Sophia Loren’s figure. Take a gawk yourself and meet my newest girl crush Sarah of Gilbert Giggles.
I’ve been trying to think of moments when I look my most beautiful. For some reason I keep recalling moments like Friday mornings when sounds of the approaching garbage truck wake me, and I rush out of bed pajama-clad to push our bin out to the street. I think I must look insane to the garbage man who probably wonders who I am talking to while I curse my husband for forgetting the pick-up schedule. Speaking of my husband, I wonder just how attractive he finds me when he arrives home from work to find I’ve spent another afternoon snacking on frozen blueberries. While delicious & healthy those things give me what I like to call zombie mouth. Who wants to steal a kiss from the un-dead? Speaking of monsters, I wonder just how ugly I look to my children when their constant messes and penchant for unrolling toilet paper transform me into a veritable Mommy Dearest. I am making a strong case for beauty here.
All joking aside, my definition of beauty was shaped by two things: what I received attention for as a kid, and the advice of my grandmother.
As a child I received attention for the silly things I said. I remember thinking of something funny to say, but hesitating only to hear my older brothers beat me to the punch. At school I muttered my quips under my breath only to have nearby classmates give them volume. The day finally came when my lack of voice became scarier than my fear of looking like an idiot. I finally said to myself, “I’m a be me”, and there was no more muting.
When I was pregnant with my daughter I remember thinking “I hope she’s not too pretty”. It sounds strange to say it out loud, but all I mean is that I hope she finds another way to feel worth. Well, that and I hope she isn’t too pretty, so I don’t feel intimidated by her. I know that my smart childhood friends grew into women who feel confident because of their intelligence. Girls who were proud of their abilities to decorate and organize their bedrooms grew into women who continue to feel value as they expand their realm to maintain beautiful homes and workspaces.
How many of us want more than anything to be the prettiest girl at the dinner party? I can’t be convinced that the smartest woman at the party could be pacified with the title of “prettiest” if holding that title meant her team would lose at Trivial Pursuit.
My grandmother used to say “pretty is as pretty does”. Oh, I should mention my grandmother is Sally Field. I think that what grandma was saying is that beauty is a behavior as much as, if not more than, an aesthetic. The hours I’ve spent watching The Real Housewives of (anywhere) have confirmed that grandma was right. It is difficult to really appreciate a perfect breast-waist-hip ratio, when you notice the breasts, waist, and hips are being forcibly escorted out of a dinner party. What good are perfectly straight white teeth, with full beautiful lips if they are used only to spew vitriol?
If you’re not convinced that talent and behavior will cut, cover, and crush a pretty face in the Rochambeau of life my fool-proof beautification method follows. If I need to feel pretty I drive to the M.A.C. Cosmetics counter, sans children, and I find the employee who most resembles The Cure’s Robert Smith. Then I settle into the make-up chair and let Jesus take the wheel. It’s pronounced “hey-soos”. The Cure has a huge Hispanic following.
Feed me fashionably fresh
