confession 2: let it go

beauty, that is. i am in the process of completely letting myself go. i am actually terrified of what i will look like in 5 years, but that's somehow still not motivating me to try very hard. in the past month, i have stopped wearing makeup altogether, leading well-intentioned friends and coworkers to ask about my health. i haven't had a haircut since last june. i painted my toenails this week for the first time in three months. i think i've been to the gym twice since the school year started. i still do the basics, like bathing and brushing my teeth, but forget about shaving my legs. sometimes, i'm even too lazy to brush my hair.

i used to pride myself on having the confidence and depth of character to not worry about shallow things like my appearance. "natural beauty" was a kind of moral high ground. let's face it, though: i'm too old for that sh!t now.

this is all on my mind because, come saturday, i will be visiting a wedding dress boutique with my sister, and i'm worried that:

a) someone will think i'm the bride's grandmother

b) someone will think i'm the groom

c) the snooty ladies will refuse to let me in the store, a la pretty woman

d) all of the above

D. the answer is obviously D! i am really going to have to repress my miss congeniality/mama june/homer simpson personality in order to survive in this setting. i don't have any deep thoughts or life philosophy born out of this dilemma; i'm just rushing to do what i can to appear both female and younger than 80 for an hour-and-a-half window on saturday (moustache waxed, spanx located, etc.).

i really feel like i can pull this off. i HAVE been to bridal shops before. i'm not the one who will be trying on dresses. hopefully they will feed me champagne like in the movies.  surely someone will remind me to put lipstick on.

until saturday afternoon, though, i won't be able to shake the scene that keeps playing in my head: we walk into the bridal shop- sister 1, the bride, looks like carrie bradshaw. sister 2 looks like a homecoming queen. i walk in behind them, radiant with sweat/face grease/allergies. the snooty lady behind the counter picks up a lace-covered walkie-talkie. "hello, security?" she shrieks, her face panicked but still pinched. "the zombie apocalypse has started. yes. yes. YES, DAMMIT, I'M SURE. she has purple circles around her eyes, her hair is matted together, and i can see her leg hair through her sweatpants. get down here fast before she bites someone! and bring your gun!!"

at that point, folks, the security guard will likely be faster than i am, so it's been real. if i make it out, it might be time for an intervention.