Damn Vanity Gods


The vanity gods are after me. They are, I know they are. Why me? Why right now? Haven’t I paid enough? I’ve had my share of bad haircuts. My sister can vouch for one cut that made me look like Mick Jagger. It was horrible. I was in middle school, and felt like my mouth was way too big for my face. Not to mention my teeth. They seemed so large and imposing. So the layered feathers and down the middle cut, pretty much made me look like a middle school Mick with the same bra size.

I’ve paid my dues, leave me alone! But they won’t. Not for this week. There are just around every corner ready to make something else on me look horrendous. I hear them. Giggling in the distance at my vain misfortune. What’s next? What do these divas want from me?

I admit it. I am vain. However, I am not the most narcissistic person I know, nor do I believe that I am the prettiest girl on the block. But I have my own thing going, and I think it’s pretty good. So, with everything else falling around me, shouldn’t I have that to be pleased about? Can’t I just hang on to that? Sit a home with a bottle of wine, put my tiara on and sing songs about how great it is to be a woman? Come on – give me that.

Nope. About a month ago my lips started peeling. Thanks to the stress they are sliding off my face at a rapid pace. Imagine a California mudslide. It’s the same thing. And for an added appeal, they are really red. Not in a good way, not in the kind of way that makes you think, “look how young I look with my pretty pink lips”. No. More like when you attempt to put red lipstick on after you’ve had that 5th margarita and your friends don’t tell you, because you’re their little monkey. “Dance monkey dance!”

To my dismay I peered into my little mirror after lunch to apply more stuff to my lips. I am trying everything. And what do I see? To pimples! What? Big deal, right? You’re at work, not in the limelight – who cares? Oh but you do. You do care when they are whiteheads, don’t ya! You do, I know you do. And there is nothing you can do about them at work. Pop it and it’s worse. Leave it and everyone stares at it. Your little friend, the volcano on your face – oh, and it’s making its debut at the meeting this afternoon. You must be thrilled.

And it ridicules you. “Go ahead, mess with me. I dare ya. Just try it and I’ll spread like wild fire and turn you into a prepubescent laughing stock. What do I have to lose?”

You know what I have to say, “We’ll talk about this when I get home. A little toothpaste buddy. See how you like that!” And to those vanity gods, trying to rock my little boat – you’ve had your fun, so move on! And if you want more, think back – the time you made me fall down the stairs at nightclub while my friends were missing, only to spend the rest of the night in a short skirt with bloody knees…you got yours in spades.