So, I get this random compliment on Facebook, and it really had me seething. First, not at the person, or at the compliment, but on the undertone to it. For me, I am an in your face type of gal, and will blast you, intentionally, if I think I might change just one person's perspective. Sadly, I don't think this was the appropriate person to blast on this issue, but I did, in hopes that the appropriate type of people, namely, people with vanity issues, would perhaps glean some shred of humility from the rebuttal to the "sincere-yet-I-took-offense-to-comment."
What happened? I put makeup on. I straightened my curly/frizzy hair. I looked like a clown who didn't pass the base coat lesson of applying make up. However, it evened my acne and rosecea red spots so that I didn't look so much like a teenage cockatiel bird in need of a facial. Then, I was at the bus stop with my migits, and grabbed the chicky who was prepping to play the part of a turkey in the Thanksgiving play today. She looked like a cross between a Pilgrim and an Indian, and she looked F-A-B! I grabbed her close to me and flung my arm in front of us and snapped a self portrait with my phone's camera. I posted it on Facebook, and that's when my claws sharpened.
First, a bus stop friend commented on the make up. I quickly explained that I did that because I was going to a school function, and it was special. Well, then, the nerve of him. Gordon writes...."Wow, you look a lot different with make up!....like a teenager or something " Bastard. I mean, "bless his heart." Okay, so I truly know that he was being kind. Recently, his wife must have lost weight or something, since she looks like a teenager and amazing in their pictures together. I made a similar comment about her, and it must have made her feel good or something, and he thought he could use it back.
Not.So.Much. See, that's the whole problem. I don't want to look like a different person. I love my ever graying head of hair. I even love that after I forget that I am old and out of shape, I can do a cartwheel, and feel every muscle that is yelling at me for the following three and a half days! I don't want to look like something I am not. I want to be me. Warts and all. Truth is, I am wart-less, but darn this polycystic ovary syndrome and the excessive body hair, acne and insulin resistance with the occasional migraine and multiple miscarriages. Yeah. All that. Good times.
More than that--- I want my children to love their selves, inside and out. I want the next generation(s) to dig deeper than the skin, and feel confident in who G-d made them- in His own image. I don't know where this confidence comes from, but I know who I am, and I guess I am happy with me. Unless I am tired. Then, I'm not happy with anyone- especially that mo' fo' that tried to say something nice to me this morning. Sorry, has been a rough few nights.