The blog in which I became enraged by a compliment. I am tired.

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.

This is the picture that spawned a day of thinking.  If you don't know me- picture me like this, but not.  I'm old, obese, have crazy hair and horrific skin.  Don't be jealous.  I'm what they would call, "a work in progress."  Better yet, "a beautiful mess."  (I am wearing foundation and powder over that.  That is all.  I put on Chapstick. Fancy, right?)  I thank G-d every single day that both my children look like my husband's side of the family.  They are a good looking family tree, and for that, I am grateful.

At least she didn't get the part of the popcorn.  I would have laughed the whole time.  We were all spared.  t