I was a very fancy little lady.
I learned early the benefits of blended make-up and sequins. I sat on the laps of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen as they applied make-up for the big show. The air thick as they applied powder with big fluffy pink puffs. And I soaked up all the attention they had to give me. Curling my hair, straightening my tights and showing me the ropes.
But it was a magical discovery I made when I was about six that truly changed my life. That there were men out there that cared about these things, too. I watched with awe and excitement as men applied my makeup for me and styled my hair. How did they know how to do this? Where did they come from? Why hadn't I known about them before?
Up until this point in my life, all the examples of boys and men were my gross brothers who farted all the time and my sweet and quiet dad who frequently scratched his butt. These magical men, I would come to find out, were called theater gays. And I loved them. They planted the seeds of fanciness in me and for that I am truly grateful. I miss them. We had sleepovers and sang songs and danced. It was bliss. Absolute bliss. They were my teachers. I, their young grasshopper. And I was an excellent pupil.
So it pains me to admit...
In the last few years I have lost my my fancy. Completely. And I blame these kids.
It started with not wearing any jewels. Because babies are babies (or rude?) and like to grab and pull things. So jewelry went first. Then skirts and dresses. Then socks and shoes. Then one day, I looked at myself and realized that I had been wearing the same yoga pants for three days and my roots were just ridiculous (Can you even call them roots when they are half the length of your hair?). I hadn't put on make-up or shaved my legs in months. And I only wore a bra if company was over.
Yep, hot,hot mess. Truly.
So as the shame washes over me, I recall all of my teachers. And how that unidentified feeling of discomfort they are feeling over their morning coffee today is because of me and they don't even know it. Shameful. I am afraid. Am I too far gone? The two different anklet socks I have on are telling me I might be.
This week I was moments away from falling on my sword when...
I got some flower clips for Ms. Plum's hair. And I admit that the excitement that washed over me when I clipped one in her hair was excessive and ridiculous. The fancy girl in me had a moment. A moment of clarity. A freaking revelation.
It is time.
I have spent the last three years being that person that goes everywhere in their pajamas. And if Stacey and Clinton refuse to intervene than I must take a stand for myself. I don't normally put a lot of stock in resolutions. But this year I must make an exception and stop the insanity. Because as I type this I am bra-less, my sweats are three sizes too big and as I mentioned before my socks don't even match. I am grossing myself out and bringing shame to all the wisdom and teachings so lovingly bestowed on me by my lifetime of fancy friends.
I say, "No more! Snap out of it!". So from this day forward I am taking myself by the shoulders and giving myself a shake. It's not going to be easy. I'm gonna have to start small. Shaving my legs and pits might be a good place to start. Yes, I will start there. Today I will shave. Oh, I just got so excited.
Mama Pants will be fancy again by the end of this calender year. This I promise myself. Mama Slobby Pants is on the way out. Make way for Mama Fancy Pants. It is on!