End of season blahs
Yesterday I looked in the mirror and noticed two red dots on my face. (I call them dots because I refuse to believe I’m pushing 40 and still have acne.) And then I noticed that my skin was blotchy all over—great. And then I glanced up at my hair—big mistake. My hair was dull and lifeless and needed some color and a cut. I turned my head sideways in an effort to get away from that horrible mirror and was horrified to see three or four long hairs sticking out of my chin. NOOOO!!!!!
Good Lord, I was a mess. I wanted nothing more than to ponder my dilemma, have a good cry, then do something about it, but I had no time. It was 9:40 and playgroup started at 10:00. I threw on my short shorts—which because I don’t have a full length mirror I can fool myself into thinking look good on me—and my tank top, and Emily, Thomas, and I jetted off to the park for playgroup. When we got there I realized two things: I was freezing cold and I smelled something in the air.
That something was Fall.
Yep, it’s true. Here in beautiful Northern California the leaves turn brown and the sky turns gray. The thermometer drops to a chilly 70-something degrees Fahrenheit, and we walk around trying to convince ourselves that it’s Fall. (In a couple more months the thermometer will drop to an ice-cold 60-something degrees Fahrenheit and it will rain three times a week. We will call that season Winter.)
This change of seasons from Summer to Fall explains why I look so horrible; I’m stuck in the no man’s land between seasons. I’m neither tan nor winter pale; I’m molting my tan like a snake molts his skin. I don’t know from looking out the window if the weather is hot or cold; I dress inappropriately for most occasions.
Hurry away Summer and take your fashion faux paus with you. I’m sick to death of wearing tank tops and shorts and of shaving my legs. Hello, Fall and your neck flab hiding turtlenecks and cute woven ponchos and black leather boots and sometimes even black tights. I want long pants! I want long sleeved shirts! I want hip hiding LAYERS!!
I must go now. It’s time to exfoliate, pluck, color, and cut. I need to look good for Fall.
Good Lord, I was a mess. I wanted nothing more than to ponder my dilemma, have a good cry, then do something about it, but I had no time. It was 9:40 and playgroup started at 10:00. I threw on my short shorts—which because I don’t have a full length mirror I can fool myself into thinking look good on me—and my tank top, and Emily, Thomas, and I jetted off to the park for playgroup. When we got there I realized two things: I was freezing cold and I smelled something in the air.
That something was Fall.
Yep, it’s true. Here in beautiful Northern California the leaves turn brown and the sky turns gray. The thermometer drops to a chilly 70-something degrees Fahrenheit, and we walk around trying to convince ourselves that it’s Fall. (In a couple more months the thermometer will drop to an ice-cold 60-something degrees Fahrenheit and it will rain three times a week. We will call that season Winter.)
This change of seasons from Summer to Fall explains why I look so horrible; I’m stuck in the no man’s land between seasons. I’m neither tan nor winter pale; I’m molting my tan like a snake molts his skin. I don’t know from looking out the window if the weather is hot or cold; I dress inappropriately for most occasions.
Hurry away Summer and take your fashion faux paus with you. I’m sick to death of wearing tank tops and shorts and of shaving my legs. Hello, Fall and your neck flab hiding turtlenecks and cute woven ponchos and black leather boots and sometimes even black tights. I want long pants! I want long sleeved shirts! I want hip hiding LAYERS!!
I must go now. It’s time to exfoliate, pluck, color, and cut. I need to look good for Fall.
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