Do the rest of you feel extremely uncomfortable and uneasy at the hair salon? Perhaps part of my problem is that I end up getting a hair cut about twice a year, but I always feel really awkward. I also find it very disconcerting to stare at myself in a giant mirror for 15 minutes straight. This morning, while having my hair cut, I noticed a lot of facial wrinkles and loose skin down under my chin. Not a pleasant discovery to make while in the presence of young, taut skinned blondes. Of course, the fact that my hairdresser had pink highlights only added to my unease. So, I'm out of my element, true, but why do I feel that I must sit silently and stare at the hair on the floor during my cuts? I was out without children...I should have been celebrating! Instead, I sat mute and resigned, trying to avoid noticing the signs of my own aging. SIGH...perhaps the more pertinent question to ask is why am I still having self-esteem issues when I've been in this skin nearly 4 decades now?
I felt out a bit uncomfortable showing my house to prospective buyers as well. That is probably normal...you want to put the best face possible on a 60 year old house! The W family stopped by today to drop off some papers, and said that their financing was approved, so we are moving forward with closing on this sale. They also mentioned that they are planning to sell their current home themselves as well and will run the full color Sunday ads and make a web page as well: "just what you did"!
And yes, the flattery canceled out the whole hair salon experience.
T
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Ah, yes. The big mirror. I have had maybe one haircut in many years in front of one of those mirrors. Also, back in myopic jr. high or so, I realized that the more you look at yourself in the mirror, the weirder you start looking. . .so many things to critisize if you look too long. The trick I suppose is to celebrate yourself, odd things and all. I have finally come to terms with my bridge-nose, though it took many years of trying not to show anyone my profile.
Now I am totally self-conscious about my completely lopsided torso. Left boob, long and stretchy like bubblegum. Right boob, perkier but still marked by one surgery and stretch marks. And speaking of stretch marks. . .I am a pool, marked by the ripples of my children, thrown in like smooth pebbles.
And I don't seem to mind that too much. . .the body has gone to feed and nurture and strengthen each of my children. I have a funny watchamadiggit--oh, wait, I have lots of those--over my eyelid, on my thigh, blablablabla.
If only we were Germans and just felt free to let it all hang out--wearing bikinis and nude and whatever. I saw some things in Kenya on the coast that would make Americans run for their towels. But it's very liberating, I should think.
Do you think this town is ready for the feminist league of nuders? Who's with me?
Post a Comment