I used to wish I was one of those people who have incredibly interesting lives. You know the ones? They live in big cities, go to posh restaurants and drink champagne with glamorous people every night. The women dress in stiletto heels and can actually walk in them, have their hair done three times a week, and never leave their bathrooms without their make up on. The guys are always well groomed, never sweat and wear designer after shave. These men never belch and drink cocktails, not beer.
I wear sneakers. (any heel and I fall and sprain an ankle) I live in the country where Moose walk through my yard and the closest restaurant to my home is a turkey farm. My hair gets washed and blown dry, and still looks like hell most of the time, and if I wore make up out to the Post Office, the people of my local village would think I was opening a house of ill repute!
Hubby drinks beer, belches and has never used after shave. We will not get in to his grooming habits. Lets just say that on the days I change the sheets I send him into the shower for an oil change!
Growing up, when I dressed in those wonderful lacy petticoats and my mothers high heels I used to see myself as celebrity material. I would pose in front of a mirror and practice smiling for the camera, (I can still smile sweetly on command) and of course I signed autographs for all the little people. Of course now a days the only people who want my autograph are the phone company, the electric company and the credit card company on my monthly checks.
So where did I go wrong? No where really. I’m not celebrity material. I realize I like wearing sneakers and no makeup. Hubby is a “real man” he can chop a tree down, mow my lawn, change my cars oil and shovel the snow in the winter, and his expectations of me are simple ones. Good meals, laundry, a clean house (sort of) hiking in the woods and taking care of his pack of hounds. Simplicity! I’d like to see one of those glamour chicks handle that!
Skip to content
