Such a pretty face

8 Sep

I’ve been going a bit crazy with the make-up lately, waltzing into work at 10a.m. with a full-on smoky eye.  Black (yeah, black!), purple, and cream eyeshadow on the upper lid, black eyeshadow just beneath the lower lid, black liquid eyeliner on top with kohl lining the bottom.  The only think keeping me from throwing on false eyelashes is that I just don’t have time for that.

When I’m feeling less than stellar about my body, I make sure that I always feel great about my face before I leave the house.  It’s like my chubby girl armor.  Oh, you think I’m fat?  Well, I may be fat, but at least I have a pretty face. Oh yes, I just went there.  The pretty face.  It’s generally used as a backhanded compliment, the kind Southerners excel in giving.  But seriously, when you feel like shit about your body, you sometimes just want to cling to whatever positive you can muster up.  And although no one has complimented me lately on my svelte sillhoutte, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been told how great my make-up looks in the past few weeks.

I recognize how sad this habit is, and how sad the reason behind it is.  It’s just another thing to put on my to-do list.  “Feel better about whole self.”  It’s right there between “make a million dollars” and “do Keanu Reeves”.


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