It isn't even summer yet and I'm exhausted with the extra curricular personal grooming requirements.
My first order of business was to splurge (it is more about the time than the money) and treat myself with a manicure and pedicure.
The manicure was spurred on by my mom's passing comments about my hands. When she read my post about "Aging Disgracefully", she assured me the waitress was talking to her, when she pointedly asked me if I qualified for Senior Discount (age 65 and above). I disagreed. The waitress was gazing directly into my eyes when she asked the question. That's okay. It is what it is.
Mom, in an oh-so-serious voice said, "I wouldn't worry about your face so much. But have you had a good look at your hands lately?!?"
I laughed. What can you do? Waitresses think I'm eleven years older than I am. Mom thinks my hands are older than that. It comes with the territory. I'm 54 years old and apparently, I'm not wearing it well.
I have been slathering my hands with lotion ever since my conversation with Mom. And I decided a "mani/pedi" was a good investment for my mind, body and soul.
Besides, I couldn't be bothered to take the time to spiff up my own appendages. I get distracted easily and I can't remember the last time I filed all ten of my fingers in one sitting. I'm more of a "tend to it when it needs tending" kind of girl. Ragged nail? File it down. Try to make the others match. Then I need a cup of coffee or to get rid of that last cup of coffee or check my email. There is always something.
I took my pretty feet outside in sandals yesterday. At the day's end they obviously needed to be hosed off.
I thought I would take a few extra minutes and use a pumice stone to keep my feet silky smooth as I go along, rather than wait for the calluses to form. Instead? All I did was rough them up. They are already feeling like sand paper. And it has only been four days since my pedicure. What's with that?!!!
Then there is all this "going outside with the kids" business. We spend hours outside. A few hours in the morning and a few hours in the afternoon. Oh! My! Gosh! Cleaning up "said children" after a morning in the sandbox was an exercise in futility. I stripped them down, changed their clothes from top to bottom and scrubbed their hands and feet. And we still ended up with three sand piles in the house despite my efforts.
Apparently the kids weren't the only dirty ones. When I finally shifted my focus to myself, I could see I was in need of a change of clothes just as much as the kids. I come inside at the end of my days looking like I've been working in a sand pit.
Which means my hair and body require a hose-down as well.
Washing my hair makes me grumpy. It has been a godsend to turn as old as I have become because the oil glands in one's hair settle down and I can sometimes stretch out the hair washing torture to once a week. One week of not having to deal with the aftermath of washing my hair makes me happy.
Not lately though!
Mow the lawn? Wash your hair. Clean out the car? Wash your hair. Walk in the wind? Wash your hair. Sit/stand beside a sandbox? Wash your hair.
I think I've washed my last dye job out of my hair. Thus, I need to tend to my roots!!
Egads!! Where does this body maintenance end? Winter?!?
Hmmm. Maybe I'll quit my complaining and just enjoy summer for what it is. If it is making me shift my focus towards a little repair and maintenance on this aging body of mine, maybe that is a good thing.