Clairol Failed My Forehead

foreheaddyeBecause I like to amuse myself in the weirdest of ways, I took time tonight to get rid of the tinsel in the center of my hairline that masked itself as a gray. If I wanted to decorate for Christmas, believe me, I can think of better ways to do it. I’m more of a red bow girl anyway. So I’m walking through K-Mart and settled on Clairol #44 Color Me Rojo Vibrante. Nothing says 35 is not old like hot red hair and a killer pair of heels. I am officially about to be the hottest woman in my living room. Well as hot as any woman can be who dyed her forehead red.

I see the wrinkle across my forehead in that picture and I’m too focused on the blood-spatter style mark at my hairline. If nothing else, I’d make a good murder victim. You know, my step mother has never dyed her hair a day in her life. Its pretty spectacular hair, all long and healthy and shit. Ugh, like I needed another reason for her to drive me insane. People who age well irritate me, and I’m not even aging all that badly. Thanks Dad for those genes I guess. 

I remember when I thought 30 was old. Our parents are always old, well not my Dad. To this day I’m surprised he has gray hair. You’d have to meet him to understand, he’s young I assure you. Anyway, my insecurities are obviously running rampant, and age seems to be the kicker. In my head I’m not remotely old, but the fact that one of my new titles is GRANDMOTHER, it’s pretty darn bad. 

lifein30sAdd that to the thought of someone seeing me naked, and forget it. I’m a ridiculous mess. It’s hysterical that the act is a thousand times less intimidating than the thought of it. By act i mean getting naked, not sex. Sheesh, what kind of blog do you think this is? I can strut naked and not think twice, but the build up, or thought of another person seeing me sans clothing freaks me out and sends me into hyper awareness of every perceived flaw have. I say perceived because I’ve learned that there are parts of my body that make me cringe, that I’ve received compliments on. Go figure. 

My neurosis needs a break I think. A bottle of wine like described to me at the water front, expensive enough that I forget how much I dislike wine. A bowl of strawberries that are all sweet and juicy without a tart one in the bunch. Enigma playing through headphones in my ears as two strong hands massage my body from head to toe. (Oh yeah, and no damn kids for miles.)

And a night that ends in an orgasm that makes all these insecurities fade away. 





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