Necklace: Anthropologie Cowrie Fringe Necklace
Handband: Spool 72

"I don't wanna fight no more." - Alabama Shakes

Life is a daily battle for me. It begins before I even get out of bed each day. I struggle with getting up because I know what awaits me once I set my feet upon the floor and go about the excruciating act of getting myself ready for the outside world.

First, a 30 minute shower where I shave my legs to the point of exhaustion and razor burn. Not even a hint of stubble is acceptable. This is one of the few things I have control over and it must be done right. I may be old, I may be fat, but my legs will be as smooth as a motherfucking baby's ass. Once out of the shower, I comb out my wet hair and roll it up into a towel. Deodorant is applied, teeth brushed and flossed, contacts inserted, and lotion applied to my entire body. If there is even the smallest chip in my nail polish, it all must be removed, nails filed, and new polish applied.

While my nails dry, I pluck my eyebrows and search my face, neck, and breasts for any pesky little black hairs just barely starting to break the skin's surface. I can get hung up on this stage sometimes for 30 minutes or more, trying to pluck a stubborn hair that I can see but just can't quite get a hold of. Next, makeup is applied - foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, and lip stick. Foundation and powder are particularly useful for covering up irritated and broken skin created during the hair plucking phase.

Now that my body and face are taken care of, it's time to tackle my hair. I blow dry it with a round brush for 15 minutes to try and tame my natural curl then I smooth it even further for another 15 minutes with a flat iron. I've had to move the flat iron to my bedroom this Summer so I can stand in front of a fan while doing it. There's no air vent in our bathroom, and I was sweating so bad that my hair was curling back up before I could get it all straightened. The week that the above pics were taken, it was so hot that I didn't even bother with my hair at all.

Last but not least, is my favorite part these days (I'm being sarcastic) - getting dressed. I try on at least 5 different outfits before having a massive meltdown over my fat fucking body and declaring that I hate every piece of clothing in my closet before finally settling on the first fucking muumuu I tried on before the whole shit storm began.

Rinse and repeat the next day.

It's exhausting. You would think after all that work I would look like a damn super model, but nope, just a old, fat disappointment with really smooth legs.    



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