Hairdo

At 4:30 a.m. I certainly don't look my best, especially if I've actually slept only to wake up with pillow cover wrinkle dinkles carved into my face. These are in addition to the ones I have earned over the past almost 50 years, so I'm an idiot to think anyone's going to notice.

But I try to look at least partly alive, thinking Hurly Burly might just pull me over again, this time for driving dead. I match my shorts to my top to my bra to my socks to my hairband. I wash my face, brush my teeth, comb my hair, put on lip gloss and deoderant, smile at myself in the mirror, then make a face, and bolt out the door. I'm in a big hurry to get to the Y.

Why do I bother? After 45 minutes on the treadmill I resemble a wet squirrel with its shorts stuck upside its butt. And New Guy is only interested in the younger gals who pussy foot around with their hairdos, perfume, jewelry, makeup, rose tattoos, piercings, and 10 perfect nails. But I console myself, straighten my shorts, lick my tail and nibble on my acorn, knowing they may be cute as the dickens, but I'm still cut. SteveArino told me one day that I looked great. I chomped down on my gum a few times and said in my best NY accent "It's the gum what makes me attractive". NOT.

So I'm checking out New Guy while he's busy zooming the pretty girl that works behind the counter. Then there were all these new guys in the pool this week to check out, many are very cut, and I'm sure I looked my best with my flip flops and cap and suit that all match, and big rings around my eyes from the goggles. One of our area pools is closed this week so we have Interlopers crowding the lanes. But it's okay. Nice to have something hot to look at for a change. Good thing we've got Sharin'. She dresses the place up nice.

Then it's a shower, get weighed, get dressed, dry and style the hair (hairdo), makeup, more makeup, get the cat hair off my pants, underwear, socks, shoes, jewelry, pants, belt, top, get more cat hair off my top, and TA-DA, I'm ready to bolt. I often wish everything matched better but there's NO TIME, I am wearing what I'm wearing even if it looks awful because it's what I packed last night in the dark without trying it on first I have to get to work. Stitch sometimes calls me glamour girl. At least I remembered the bra.

Every year it seems to take me longer and longer to look my best. But I try. In a couple of weeks I am going to a cosmetic party that the Cheater is hosting to buy products that will make our skin as beautiful and youthful as Puppy Sweet Cheeks. I'll bring a checkbook.