This will come as a huge surprise to those-of-you-who-know-me: I’ve never been someone really dedicated to fashion or beauty. (“Damn good thing, since you’re not really good at either of those things,” those-of-you-who-know-me are saying right now.)
Whatever, smart asses. I just mean that I tend to take the tomboy approach to things. Makeup routine: Mascara. Chapstick. Done. Facial cleansing routine: Water. Towel. Done. Clothes shopping: Run through Sports Authority. Grab pants. Done. If Safeway sold pants, I'd have a couple pairs.
I choose clothes and shoes based solely on their comfort factor. Although I do prefer that the colors are in the khaki family if possible. I have gone out on a limb recently and gotten some black things for formal occasions when khaki just won’t do. I tell you all of this so that when I say I was reading a magazine article on beauty secrets and regrets you will realize that I must’ve been extremely bored in line at the grocery store, DMV or in the waiting area at the emergency room. (There’s a blog topic for another day…should there really be places to WAIT at a center for EMERGENCIES?) You can tell I was not getting my hair cut, because I only read People and US when I get my hair cut. It’s important to get updates every six weeks or so on how many illegitimate children Angelina Jolie has currently, and how big Mary Kate’s giant purse is…has to be big enough to keep Ashley in, I think.
So, there I was, Somewhere Boring, reading this article on the things women regret not doing in their youth that would’ve practically guaranteed their future beauty. Because that's possible. It was really complex things like, “I regret not wearing sunscreen as a teenager because now I’m 70 and have wrinkles” or “I regret getting that Dorothy Hamill haircut when what I really wanted was the Princess Di haircut with Nadia Comaneci bangs” and “I regret purchasing a condominium instead of really good moisturizer, nobody marries women with their own condominium.” Which got me to thinking, “Hmmm. Why the hell can’t boring places at least get The New Yorker? It’s weekly, so there’d be plenty for everyone, they have cartoons…”
Much, much later, I wondered how I would answer the question of my biggest beauty faux pas. And, here for your reading pleasure are my answers. The personal, innermost beauty-related regrets of ME. But don’t read them now. Print them. Save them in your handbag until you’re waiting for your automobile emissions test/prescription/parent-teacher conference, and are looking for something really compelling to read in your samsonite molded plastic seat.
1. Using baby oil as sunscreen from 1979 to 1990. But only because I ruined several pairs of shorts with my greasy ass. Otherwise, it was a pretty good idea and very effective. I was always very tan and youthful looking. (Especially in 1979.) I think my lemon juice highlights accentuated my golden brown shoulders in such a manner that most folks did not notice my greasy shorts anyway.
2. Drinking 9 beers the night before a job interview(s). I got the job(s), but I always look a little rough on my ID badges.
3. But here’s the one that would really make a difference: I regret not marrying a plastic surgeon, or the brother of a plastic surgeon or the son of a plastic surgeon. Pretty much anyone with a family discount for plastic surgery woulda been good. I think that’s what would ultimately make the biggest difference in my overall appearance today. Well, besides diet and exercise. And moisturizer. Blah, blah, blah, whatever.
POST SCRIPT - several days later - it occurs to me that I may be inferring that I'd rather not be married to Big Dude Little Glasses, and that was not my point at all. I love him dearly, it's just that he would have to pay retail for any surgical improvements. Also, the big galoot seems to love me the way I am, so I'm probably sticking around for another 5 decades or so.
"I base most of my fashion taste on what doesn't itch." - Gilda Radner