What we do for boys.........

And I say "boys" loosely, this also includes "men" but "men" are technically just bigger "boys" so let's just say "boys" shall we? I pondered this question this morning after I said to Jeff "take me somewhere, I've been in this house for three solid days and I want to go OUT now!" (I think this could technically be considered holding me hostage, but since I am able to drive, I guess I could have escaped at any moment, provided I could slip and slide my way out of the driveway in the thick, mucky snow). So, after I literally PUSHED him out of bed, while stripping the sheets off the bed at the same time (something about lying about in them for the last two days doing nothing but eating and reading books made me think they needed to be washed...ok, and there were some crumbs....), we began the process of "getting ready". Now, as we all know this is a vastly different chore for women than for men. And this morning it was complicated by the fact that I needed to "do" my roots (because this f*&king snow caused my hair appointment to be canceled last week). But thanks to modern technology, "doing" your roots now takes only about ten minutes. So, during that ten minutes I felt the need to apply a "clarifying" face mask (apparently a dozen or so sugar cookies a day is bad for the complexion). So, I also decided I should take off my shirt, lest I have to pull it over my head whilst my roots were darkening. And there I stood, in all my glory, hair splayed out from my head much like Medusa, roots darkening to a somewhat believable brown, face all shiny and plastic-looking just like a mannequin and my "girls" hanging out in the breeze (and let's just say, I'm over 40 so the girls ALWAYS should be contained in some sort of supportive device - bra, supportive camisole, wooden shelf on which to plop them). Very sexy. While I was waiting I got out the tweezers and proceeded to pluck hairs from places hair should never grow on a woman (Barbisol anyone?), and then decided my roots were darkening faster than my face mask was drying so I proceeded to blow-dry my FACE! Once the face mask had achieved that plasticine tightness preventing me from smiling, wrinkling my brow or otherwise moving my facial muscles (Botox in a bottle!), I began the process of peeling off my mask. And that's when it hit me. I am peeling my FACE OFF! Technically a microscopic layer of "face" was coming off as I peeled and all for what? Beauty? Vanity? The desire to have my face be all one color (as opposed to very pale with red splotches that resemble countries?). I should take this opportunity to point out that Jeff was completely ready to go BEFORE I even applied my hair color. Not one to "waste" a perfecly good shower on a vacation day, he picked himself up off the floor (where I had thrown him earlier) and pulled on jeans, a t-shirt and plunked a hat on his head (why brush your hair when you've got a hat?), then smiled at me and said "I'm ready!" To which I replied "give me a few (insert expletive) minutes!" Now a full twenty minutes after that exchange, I was ready to shower and rinse out my roots. Then, of course, drying off, wrapping the hair in a towel to absorb excess water, applying leave-in conditioner and gel to curls (for that "natural" look), painting my face with a smattering of makeup and choosing an outfit and I was ready to go! Whew. All that for a trip to Starbucks and the grocery store and then home in under two hours. My cabin fever was NOT cured in this short amount of time, to which my husband replied "that's ok, we'll go out again tomorrow". TOMORROW? I think I'll go wash off my makeup, put on some ugly sweats, and my glasses. Apparently the glossing over of my housebound, lazy, sluggish self did nothing to awaken my husband's senses. Maybe I'll just shave half my head and pierce my nose and see if he notices!