I got my hair done yesterday–a body wave to bring life back to this straight, stringy, uncooperative mess. All the antibiotics and other meds pumped into my system from December 2012 through March 2013 messed with my hair somehow and made it moodier than ever. And since it was rarely in the mood to do what I wanted it to, I tried to make what it wanted to do work. Sometimes it did, but not often.
So, after Paula finished working her miracles, I felt pretty. Rare occasion these days. Since my hair was done and my makeup had survived an extensive process involving shampoo, water, and a variety of chemicals we won’t get into here, I decided to go shopping for an Easter dress.
I found some dresses I liked, and early in the process, while I was still feeling pretty, this is what I thought I’d look like when I tried them on:
Okay–maybe not just like that. Those ladies are slender; I’m not anymore. I’ve gained back most of the weight I lost while I was sick, and while I’m not seriously fat, I do have a few pounds more than what I’m supposed to have for my age and height. Not bad, but a few.
So I had high hopes as I mussed my perfect hair trying to pull that unforgiving material over my head. I had my fingers crossed as I smoothed it over my hips. Then I looked in the mirror.
Who on God’s green earth thought spandex was a good material for women’s clothes? Seriously. I’m ready to flog him. Surely it’s not a her. Any woman who would do this to another woman is just cold and deserves a punishment far worse than flogging–like gaining 50 pounds and living the rest of her days in a mirrored house dressed her own designs.
Imagine this in red spandex:
I was totally demoralized. Totally.
Didn’t change things, though. I needed something for Easter.
I struggled out of the dress and donned my “real” clothes–made of denim and cotton. My hair flopped in my face; my mascara had smeared. My face looked pasty pale in the mirror.
I no longer felt pretty as I slunk back to the clothing racks and looked for a larger size or something not made of spandex or a spandex blend. I lowered my hopes from looking fabulous to “maybe no one would puke at the sight of me.”
A couple of the dresses I’d tried in the size I thought I was turned out not to be so bad in the larger size, but I was beginning to understand how Mom felt in the ’50s and ’60s, even though she’d never had to deal with spandex. I needed/need a floor-to-ceiling girdle. Or a whalebone corset. Or a return to the days when women wore bustles–I’d be right in style without having to put one on.
One of these days, fashion will go full swing, and we’ll return to those sensible shirt-waist dresses popular when I Love Lucy was still fresh on the airwaves. Okay, maybe not all fashion will return to it, but at least it could be an option again. And they’d be made of cotton, or a 70-30 cotton blend that doesn’t wrinkle.
Yeah. That’s what I want.
Who’s with me?!