Price of beauty
I like dogs.
Oh, you don’t say? Never would’ve guessed.
Yep. Maybe I’m a typical dog person, whatever that means. I’m not all dressed up, hair perfectly brushed and beautifully tied into a knot. No. I don’t do fancy clothes and the closest I ever get to being halfway presentable to the outside world is at work, when I put on something that vaguely resembles my dogshow outfit.
So you’ll believe me when I say I don’t do girly either. But I have just spent more than one paycheck’s worth of girly stuff at the beauty parlor. Between all of the middle age rituals that women are supposed to go through to look bearably passable, a ridiculous amount of that was spent on my hair, which will be done tomorrow morning. I also had a pedicure, which is something nearly orgasmic after spending my days walking up and down from home to college to home to work to walking the dogs in the wrong kind of shoes (always).
And as I think of every curse word I didn’t even know existed (and probably 70% of that I’ll never have the guts to say aloud) while the woman pluckes my eyebrows, I also wonder if it’s all worthy. I mean, I pay them high money so they can hurt me?! What the hell is wrong with the world?
But, yeah, of course it’s worthy. Who am I kidding, right? I just wish I could fastforward this to the moment when I’m all ready and shiny. Besides, this is once in an year or something (yes, I know. Tomboy much?), so I can go back to spending all of my money on dogs the other 11 months of the year.
Because, let’s face it. There’s nothing better than spending a few hundred bucks on chicken necks. Or vets. Gotta feed those vets, right?
