Wednesday, 2 June 2010
And this is why I am not the perfect woman
Which is why I will never achieve the perfect body shape (at the same time as not achieving my motherhood nirvana).
I don't have money to go to a hairdresser for a cut once a month and a blow dry twice a week. Which is why I have no choice but adopting long, free flowing, air blown hair every day without even calling it "bad hair day" - I mean: it is the norm.
I forget applying my heels cream, and my nail cuticle cream, and my anti-wrinkle cream, and my body lotion, and my face toner, and my lips balm, and my tired eyes serum, and my before-bed moisturiser, and my early-morning emulsion. I simply can't remember the order which is why I may occasionally win the battle but never the skin war.
I could negate the effects of aging if only I could fit in afternoon naps regularly, but more often than not it is make up that tries to conceal the defects so I splash some of it on, without really knowing the rules (if there are any). YSL touche eclad anyone? Yes, please!
I often suffer from shoe-ache and the stickers applied to the back of my feet don't really very well hide the scars of years of shoe abuse. I still am in possession of some seriously high heels but they don't see much mileage these days for lack of high heel places to go to and for unwillingness on my part to compromise my comfort if I do go.
Stretch marks crème did not work. That one was a goner even before pregnancy happened to me to be honest. Which is probably why I am not too convinced the anti-wrinkle ones will do any better job to beat the inevitable.
Cup sizes go up and down with time, as a function of weight gain/loss (mainly gain) and maternal weeks count. But the direction of their gravity is sadly always and forever down, down, down in their quest to reach the belly button line (which they may even surpass, should they confuse a stretch mark further down for the real thing).
I started off with waxing and de-hairing lower legs, moved on to upper legs, eventually to Brazil (and oh, boy - do they know how to have fun in Rio! - scream out loud!!), and after all that it appears that not only "baby skin" is never achieved except in babies, but you can get in-growths, spots, red rash and all sorts to spoil the desired effect which even a fake Saint Tropez spay on cannot hide. Always disappointing. Which is a bit worrying given that I have noticed of recent a hint of a moustache and three lonely beard hairs whcih I repeatedly uproot for them to grow back again (not to mention that the fake Saint Tropez has the capacity to really damage your white "I deserve it" undergarments).
I get period spots (which is only marginally better than teenage ones - on the plus side: they only happen once a month; on the negative - everyone knows you have your period; or may be only those of us who have our glasses on).
I don't have the time for teeth whitening, and flossing, and mouth wash cleansing, and manicure touch up, and a face mask and two cucumber slices every night.
And as I write this I continue to slide in my chair to what would become one day a visible posture problem because it just dawned on me I even forgot to take my vitamins and WellWoman nutritious supplements this week.
Money, time, stamina, memory, will - basically, don't be mistaken - this is a set up for failure from the outset.
Which is why (collectively) I will never achieve my perfect body form. No amount of protein, then carb, then veg, then only water diets on top of M&S elasti-pants will ever make up for the shortfalls.
And yet, as Kvazimodo looks in the mirror some mornings (some mornings, not all) I can't help but wink at the reflection thinking "Way to go, girl!"
And the world out there (probably mainly meaning men, but who knows?) will have to learn to either take it leave it. I do (or at least I try to).
The brilliant thing about all this is that I leave the house in the safe knowledge that there is no perfect woman out there - they all get spots and periods and split ends. So there is to equality!!