Wednesday, March 13, 2013
It's in the bag.
I can remember when getting dressed required a good soap and clean clothes. Then with age, I added a good haircut and some makeup. Red lipstick is my signature. In my thirties, I noticed that my oily skin required powder makeup and my hair became allergic to chemicals, so I rocked the twa. As I pulled into my forties, I finally lost enough teeth to have to replace the chewing surface. Yes, some of my teeth sleep in a cup of water. My hair, that was already thin, thinned so much that it looked like baby hair. Baby hair is not "chic". I am on a medication that causes my legs to bruise easily and I developed a hematoma from being kicked by a student. I now wear brown stockings with everything. My weight that I lost at 32 came back with a vengeance at 42. I bore all that with the grace of a bull in a china shop. Two years ago, I made the final addition to my changing body. I went down to the store and bought a wig. It was heartbreaking for me to add this piece because I always prided myself in wearing my own hair. I ran from glue and weave because it was just too much. Even braids was something I did not tolerate well. My first wig was short, but it felt like I was wearing a monument of hair. Before the year will be out, I would have now purchased over forty two wigs. I have come to realize that excellence for my hair must now come in a bag. Replacing my hair was hard. I believe there is a lesson to be learned. Sometimes, no matter what you think, you are not going to reach perfection without some help. The fact that I refuse to sit and watch my hair wash down the drain speaks to my pursuit of excellence. The refusal to have teeth missing all over my mouth speaks to excellence. My refusal to have this bruise be the center of my silhouette speaks to my excellence. Sometimes, beauty is in the body. Sometimes, my beauty is in a cup. Sometimes, my beauty is in a bottle. Sometimes, my hair is in a bag.
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