We can’t all be Barbies all the time

Some women have a knack for putting themselves together.  You know – the women who wear scarves that don’t just lamely drape around their necks – they fold perfectly, bounce just right and somehow make their face glow.

I’m sorry. Am I on your runway? Please allow me get my ugly mug out of your way and find a rock to climb under.

Encounters with these glamour girls always happen on your worst days. The days where getting out of bed is a challenge. Days you decided to “go with it” after seeing the god-awful reflection of your frizzy mop in the mirror. Or the days you chose to wear a white shirt only to spill coffee on your chest – right beside the yellow armpit stain. You know – the days when you didn’t take time to brush your teeth let alone switch your purse to coordinate with your pants or shoes or whatever your purse is supposed to match.

As often as these days come about, there’s an occasional “perfect storm”.

Case in point: In the locker room of the gym during my lunch hour I had a run-in with a very well-composed woman.

This woman Had. It. Together.

Not that I should share details from a locker room, but I’m going to share details from the locker room.

Her hair, despite being post-workout, was long, shiny, dark and smooth.  In the post-workout stage myself, I peered around the corner to catch a glimpse of what looked like a brillo pad. My hair.

Just call me Scraggles.

Desperately shoving bobby pins into my hair in attempt to keep the flyaways under control, I tried to brush off the jealousy as I feigned delight in what the mirror was showing. That’s when I noticed her golden tan.

Seriously?

I examined the golden brown freckles spread across my blotchy red and white skin: comparatively unattractive, unless you are a Dalmatian lover. Or greatly enjoy paintball.

She stood in her leopard-print bra and matching underwear while she casually checked her – I kid you not! – leopard-print phone. How annoyingly harmonious.

I’m having trouble recalling whether my underthings have ever matched each other, let alone coordinated with my phone.

Wait! Nope.  Never.

Is that something I should be paying attention to? Honestly, I’m lucky if my socks end up matched up correctly – which lately is proving to be more of a challenge due to continuously losing socks to “the cause” I call my washer. Or dryer – both of which are being held hostage in a too-small room painted the wrong color in my basement featuring a wall “sticker” gone bad.

It’s not perfect. Go figure.

To top it off, this woman appeared to have all the time in the world.  In a sweaty rush, I packed up my bag and departed the locker room. That’s when I noticed the right leg hem of my dress pants had come undone and was dragging on the ground, an inch longer than the other side.

Perfect.

As I paper clipped the hem of my pants back at work, I wondered what was wrong with me.  Mid-twenties and a non-mom, I should be one of “those” girls who makes it look easy.

Well, I can. I can make it look easy with some extra time and work, including but not limited to standing (freezing) in my closet debating what shirt goes with what bottoms and whether I have accessories (belts, purses, anything!) to accent it to fool people into thinking I’m a fashionista.

I guess some days just aren’t worth it – as long as everyone else I run into that day decided it wasn’t worth it as well.

Shootin’ the Wit is a column about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.

4 thoughts on “We can’t all be Barbies all the time

  1. The mismatched, last year (or last decade) styles, loose hem, hole in the knee outfits just say ‘I’m Awesome’ and don’t need to spend the tons of time, money, etc. that you leopard print wearers require to feel good. Also, I say comfort wins. Always.

  2. Bahaha. Funny. I’m glad you’re Jamestown Sun’s blog of the week :) And I’m glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t match her “underthings.” Did I just write that in public?

  3. I never understood why women think they need to work so hard at looking “pretty”. Do women forget that they are a WOMAN? Being a female alone makes you a very special commodity; therefore, there is no need for fancy clothes or shoes. Don’t get me wrong, high heels and fake tans are fun to look at, but a woman who wears her coffee-stained blouse with confidence is way sexier to me. It’s not that I am into stains or dirty clothes, I am drawn to confidence and the “I don’t care what you think – I am me” attitude. FYI, self confidence is way easier to spot from across a room, way easier than a matching set of “underthings”.

    “Excuse me Ms. Confident, can I buy you a drink?”

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