I am a beauty bomb. No, seriously.

“All little girls should be told they are pretty, even if they aren't.”
― Marilyn Monroe

I am pretty sure I've given up on this whole beauty thing.  I know this because I ventured out tonight in a pair of torn Umbros (remember those?) I have had SINCE COLLEGE (800 million years ago...they were somewhat smaller than I remembered, though), a t-shirt that was about 10 times too big for me and a raggedy pair of flip flops.  My sweaty hair was knotted in the back of my head to keep it off my shiny, makeup-smeared face.  You've seen those cute teenagers who can knot their hair up and they still look like supermodels?  Yeah, don't picture THEM.  Picture instead a large-headed woman with thinning hair who can barely gather enough hair for a pitiful ball smack in the back center of her round noggin and you have something a little closer to my reality.

I'm ready for my close-up.

Twenty years ago I would have been AGHAST at my own appearance tonight.  Twenty years ago I didn't step OUTSIDE without a shower, inexpertly coiffed hair and thickly applied makeup.  This was not so much that I was concerned about my own beauty but more so that I was really desperate to appear not hideous to the outside world.  Hey, give me a break...I was coming off some really unfortunate teenage years.

Now?  If my teeth are brushed, I am GOLDEN.

Here are a few ways to tell if you're ready to surrender your beauty weapons:

1.  The half-assed mani/pedi.  OK, my toes ARE generally painted in the summer.  Hastily.  By me.  Usually five minutes prior to walking out the door.  And sometimes I don't have time to completely remove the old polish, so I just add a thick layer RIGHT on top of the old.  Sometimes I do this four or five times.  I know this is frowned upon by professionals because I went in for a REAL pedicure a couple of years ago and the woman began a rapid-fire dressing down in an Asian language unknown to me.  She was apparently horrified as she applied acetone to my toes, rubbed hard, glared at me, applied more acetone, rubbed some more, glared some more and applied more acetone.  I gave her an awesome tip.  Manicures?  Meh.  Again, I'll slap on some polish if I'm feeling froggy.  I do manage to make my fingers match my toes.  I'm not a total imbecile. 
2. Makeup.  I've been wearing the EXACT SAME makeup for...you guessed it...TWENTY YEARS.  I always have brown eye shadow, brown eye liner and a hint of blush.  I did go a little crazy a few years ago and exchanged my liquid matte foundation for a mineral foundation.  I do not match my eye shadow to my outfit.  I don't even think about colors.  It's simply too much for me.  My entire makeup procedure takes approximately one and half minutes...if I take my time.  It took me a sum total of 20 minutes to do hair and makeup PRIOR TO MY WEDDING.  I've heard of women spending entire DAYS preparing for events like that.  
3. Hair.  OMG.  Do NOT get me started on my hair.  My natural hair is a thin mass of curls that go up and down and over and out and all over my head.  My face under my natural hair looks very much like it's being swarmed by brown bees.  Lately, I've been drying it, halfheartedly running a straightening iron through it and then I hope for the best.  It usually ends up in a clip or a band within 20 minutes of "styling" anyway.
4. Clothing.  My daily uniform consists of brown or black pants, a white tank top or t-shirt and either a cardigan or a button down shirt.  Every day.  Sometimes, I mix it up and throw on a jacket instead of the cardigan or button down.  But my pants are ALWAYS black or brown. Unless it's a weekend and it's jeans and a t-shirt.  I buy in bulk.  I have added in a rusty orange color and some purple.  Never patterns.  Always solids.  I am nothing if completely unadventurous in clothing.  Yawn. 

If any of the above sound remotely like you, I beg of you to RUN (not walk) to your nearest fashionista friend and plead with her to keep you from turning into me.  I have given up....but YOU DON'T HAVE TO.  

I texted a good friend of mine tonight during my Umbro outing and told her that I was in the process of violating every rule she'd ever taught me.  She laughed but didn't protest.  She knew I was telling the truth without even asking.  She loves me for who I am, apparently.  I've noticed that we're not spending a lot of time together anymore though...she just doesn't want to be witness to the rapid unraveling that's sure to happen as I move further into my forties.

On the flip side, there's something pretty amazing about all of this:  I accept myself fully and completely.  I'm not only secure enough to venture out looking just this shy of homeless but I'm secure enough to laugh about it in blog world.

That, my friends, is worth my weight in bobby pins.