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those small cosmetic subterfuges
I don't really think of myself as possessing much vanity, at least, not much vanity as regards my physical appearance, because I'm pretty laid back about it. Dress me up too much and I start feeling clownish and overexposed. And I don't spend much time on my grooming: I bathe and brush my teeth without frills and furbelows, condition my hair occasionally, paint my toenails when I feel like it, and that's pretty much it. I'm not one of those people who spends hours in front of a mirror, and I tend to forget to slather myself with unguents and lotions to keep myself looking dewy-fresh and apple-cheeked.
And yet. And yet.
I mentioned, right, that in between the angry divorces and cancers and funerals* and sorrowing friends and grieving, stranded mothers of the past couple of weeks, I've been spending time doing practical things, and as a result, my house has never been tidier or more wholly presentable (my approach to housekeeping being of a piece with my approach to grooming). I've rearranged the bedroom, I've prepped the kitchen to begin a cosmetic remodel, I've revamped my television storage; I've been a regular Martha Stewart, without the staff and with worse taste, channeling all that frustration into something I can get a handle on.
Last night, it was the bathroom's turn. I'm finally to the point where I know how I want to recolor and update the house, and I'm ready to start buying the paint and everything. The kitchen's first, and so most of the bathroom changes will have to wait, but in the meantime the big bathroom linen closet, into which I've been haphazardly tossing junk for four and a half years, that was due a major organizational overhaul, and so last night I tackled it, organizing everything according to use and finding new places for all of it.
And good lord, people, I have a lot of crap! I never actually realized how much until I had it spread out all over my bathroom floor, soaps and gels and lotions and salves and protectants and exfoliants and such. All told, there are several gallons of scented goo in my bathroom, and it occurs to me that if I ever want to create my own potions lab -- and I absolutely do -- this is where my ingredients will come from.
How did I get all this crap, crap which I mostly don't think to use? A lot of it was given me, obviously; a nice Bath and Body Works set is a fairly fail-safe gift for a coworker or acquaintance you don't know well. But I do have a weakness for certain scents, and every now and then I'll pick one up and not actually get around to using it, and it all just piles up, more quickly than I ever expected. Citrus or rose or apple or green tea or -- well, you get the picture.
Looking at it, arrayed in jewel colors, it is beautiful and also hideously embarrassing. I need to get on actually using this stuff. Or getting that potions laboratory set up. Or something.
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* The funeral, though, that was an experience; the deceased was a construction worker and a Shriner and a Mason and a Navy vet and a biker, and the (stunning, yellow-jacket-swarmed) ceremony reflected all those things.
And yet. And yet.
I mentioned, right, that in between the angry divorces and cancers and funerals* and sorrowing friends and grieving, stranded mothers of the past couple of weeks, I've been spending time doing practical things, and as a result, my house has never been tidier or more wholly presentable (my approach to housekeeping being of a piece with my approach to grooming). I've rearranged the bedroom, I've prepped the kitchen to begin a cosmetic remodel, I've revamped my television storage; I've been a regular Martha Stewart, without the staff and with worse taste, channeling all that frustration into something I can get a handle on.
Last night, it was the bathroom's turn. I'm finally to the point where I know how I want to recolor and update the house, and I'm ready to start buying the paint and everything. The kitchen's first, and so most of the bathroom changes will have to wait, but in the meantime the big bathroom linen closet, into which I've been haphazardly tossing junk for four and a half years, that was due a major organizational overhaul, and so last night I tackled it, organizing everything according to use and finding new places for all of it.
And good lord, people, I have a lot of crap! I never actually realized how much until I had it spread out all over my bathroom floor, soaps and gels and lotions and salves and protectants and exfoliants and such. All told, there are several gallons of scented goo in my bathroom, and it occurs to me that if I ever want to create my own potions lab -- and I absolutely do -- this is where my ingredients will come from.
How did I get all this crap, crap which I mostly don't think to use? A lot of it was given me, obviously; a nice Bath and Body Works set is a fairly fail-safe gift for a coworker or acquaintance you don't know well. But I do have a weakness for certain scents, and every now and then I'll pick one up and not actually get around to using it, and it all just piles up, more quickly than I ever expected. Citrus or rose or apple or green tea or -- well, you get the picture.
Looking at it, arrayed in jewel colors, it is beautiful and also hideously embarrassing. I need to get on actually using this stuff. Or getting that potions laboratory set up. Or something.
* The funeral, though, that was an experience; the deceased was a construction worker and a Shriner and a Mason and a Navy vet and a biker, and the (stunning, yellow-jacket-swarmed) ceremony reflected all those things.