I dyed my hair yesterday. Yes, all you hairdressers out there who are appalled: I dye my own hair. With twelve-dollar color that I buy at Walmart. It's because I have all these money-sucking kids who always need new jeans and new shoes and, like, food and stuff more than I need my roots touched up by a professional. So it's either color it myself or go full-on Granny at age thirty-four, and I'm not down with a head full of pube-y looking silver. Because that's exactly what my grays look like: crinkly, pale pubes.
I'm scared to get old for this reason. Are there "mean girl" cliques in nursing homes?
Anyway, I dyed my hair, and I was standing there in front of my bathroom mirror wearing my oldest, most raggedy T-shirt. It was smudged with brown dye, looking like I'd given a shoulder ride to a diaperless baby with a pooping problem. My hair was saturated with goop and piled on top of my head in a gloppy mound, like a mini-beehive.
While I was waiting for my hair color to develop, I decided to floss my teeth. So I was all up in the mirror like this:
(Okay - so less plaque, perhaps, but approximately the same amount of chin hair.)
After that was done, I decided to file my feet. My mom bought me this sander thing for Christmas that's kind of like a power tool - it grinds the dead skin right off. So I put one foot up on the sink, bent over it like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and got to work. Foot-dust was flying everywhere. I should have worn some sort of protective breathing apparatus or some goggles or something. I mean ... foot-dust. *shudder*
With ten minutes left in the dyeing process, I figured I had time to rid myself of some excess facial hair. (Yes, I do that myself too. Remember my post on DIY de-frumping?) So I adhered wax strips to my face, and I'm pretty sure I looked something like this as I ripped them off:
All this got me thinking. It's actually kind of ironic how ugly we look in the process of beautification. The end result is gorgeous and desirable, but we (or at least, I) look nowhere near gorgeous OR desirable when I'm primping. Right down to the mouth-gaping-open-while-applying-mascara step. I guess that's why we do it all behind closed doors.
... Because don't nobody wanna see all that. Until it's done, anyway.