There are times I think I can start myself all over again. Scrub the callouses off my feet, trim the toenails and paint them bright, do my hair up with some latest vibrant boxed color and get Oprah's team to style it just right. New clothes, new shoes, new all over do. And then I could present this shiny new beaming me to people who had hither to not really noticed who I was. It would be a good feeling, walking around all primed and pressed and starched to the crisp. And then I think that I would have to get another pedicure in a month, perhaps touch up color on my head, trim the dead ends of my hair, re-crimp, starch, press and prime and the thought of it just exhausts me. I'm just sure there are people who manage all of this by having other people manage It all. As it is, I am the one who manages It all, so the managing of myself slips off the table. I find it ironic that when friends come for dinner, I might spend the entire day cleaning and cooking, making the house look nice and smell good. Then, fifteen minutes before they arrive, I'll look in the mirror and wonder who drug that bag lady in. Most people have it the other way around - self first, surroundings next. But I'm always looking outward so what I see gets the makeover while I go self-neglected on my blissful way.
Bubba's wardrobe is in a sad state. I didn't realize it until a few weeks ago when I balked at getting him anything made of cotton for Christmas. In Christmases past, I have bought him all kinds of cotton things: blue pin striped long sleeve button ups for a casual work day, flannel/cotton long sleeve pullovers for raking the leaves on a Saturday, t-shirts for hanging around the guys. He always returns whatever I buy - so I gave up. And then he said he'd like, or was it needed, a few shirts and I was like, YOU? Yeah Right. And then I looked at what he was wearing, a shabby rendition of his former self, and thought maybe he was on to something.
Today, I peered into his side of the closet. The man has more t-shirts than he could ever possibly wear. They're from running meets and bike shops, beer shops, places we've ventured. Most of them fall into the beater category - and those are the ones he wears the most. I noticed, just before I started to feel sorry for his pathetic wardrobe, that he does have at least 6 nice long sleeve button up shirts for work. So why was he wearing that inadequate overly casual short sleeve this morning when it was freezing cold? We only get about a month and a half of cold weather in Texas - so you need to enjoy those long sleeves while you can. He's got a kind of chronic condition when it comes to getting dressed that has him walking out the door looking kind of unsettled. I suppose I should help him. After all, he has asked me to shop with him every single time he needed anything - even though my opinion gets overlooked again and again. But he needs me now. I see this. And as it turns out, I need me now, too. If only to get up to the standard casual, forget the starch.
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nah. ya'll are perfect, just as you are.
ReplyDeleteWe gave a party a few days after Christmas. Wisely, I timed it so I didn't have to decorate especially for the party, but that still left general tidying up and preparing the food. A half hour before the party, one of my friends arrived and, along with my husband, insisted that I change and get ready. One look in the mirror and I knew I needed more time. On my list of "Lessons That Have Been Called To My Attention", number thirteen is: Some sacrifice time for artifice and costume, others sacrifice artifice and costume for time. That's my excuse anyway!
ReplyDeleteYou don't want to know the number of pieces of clothing on the guest room bed, waiting to be ironed. This after, two years ago, promising myself to buy no more 100% cotton for husband and me. Blends, I keep saying to myself, cotton blends!