Body Medium

Instead of crabbing about how society and men in particular have failed to appreciate the beauty of my unruly hair and my large proportions, maybe I could look at myself as a work of art and consider my body a medium (insert size joke here). Right now, my body is more documentary than fiction. But maybe my body could be the lie that tells the truth of my inner worth.

Excerise doesn't bother me because (mostly because I don't do it often) all I really need is a decent pair of walking shoes. It's the thought of spending money on hair, make-up and clothes that makes me want to chew rocks. Can I learn to take pleasure in beauty treatments? Will I find hunter/gatherer satisfaction in shopping for flattering fashions?

One of my girly-girl friends loves to "treat herself" to visits to the salon. I'd rather treat myself to a root canal. At least oral surgeons give you nitrous oxide, if you need it, and they don't seem offended if you chose not to chat with them. Plus I have dental coverage. Hair stylists aren't satisfied with co-payments. Okay. I'll stop crabbing.

I really ought to accept the reality that I need to spend precious time and money on my appearance if I want to "maximize my potential." I must reframe the cost and see it as an investment, but I am frowning as I write this. That's not very attractive, now is it?