You're The Woman I Married

My sister watches a diabolical and addictive show called "Ten Years Younger" where a person volunteers to stand in a soundproof glass box while people guess his or her age. Usually, the person is made as ugly and plain as possible, goes through a makeover, and gets put back in the box where people talk about how young and hip he or she looks, usually ten years younger! This formula of battering down the ego (how does it make you feel when that kid said, You look like my mom! You've got that old look! and the woman sniffles and cries), a complete ten day makeover (teeth, skin, hair, clothes -- weirdly the clothes are usually ugly as all get out in the guise of being what one might "really wear," (complete with kind remarks like, "You're arms are fat so you'll want to wear a shawl to cover" which only serves to make the person look like a matron with fat arms), and then an unveiling where you're shown your old bad self and then you get to see your new self. Of course, your family gets to see the new product and ooh and aah. "You're the woman I married," a husband might say. As if the haggard and drawn model was an imposter, someone masquerading as his wife and mother of his children instead of the product of several years in this role.

Everyone loves transformation, and I am no exception. Given that I don't change much (I've worn my hair in the same style since childhood, still wear clothes I had in high school, and generally slop on whatever make-up is at hand), I like the magical aspects of looking different even more. But with no bravery in my soul, you won't see me in some glass box, even if it means getting my teeth fixed for free (at present moment, I'm on my way to writing a Martin Amis type memoir about them), my skin refreshed (a real draw for someone who spent all her early years slathering that well known beauty aide Crisco on it to get a tan), and some advice on how to make my eyes bigger, my nose smaller, my lips fuller. Having ended up in a home economics class during my junior high days for a week before moving to something even more ill-advised (music), I learned a little about making myself look better for my husband, whoever should he be, that living mirror, the prince that would kiss me awake, the man who would take me out of the glass coffin if I didn't have the good sense to never put myself in one in the first place.

Michelle's Spell of the Day

"I believe in running through the rain and crashing into the person you love and having your lips bleed on each other." Billy Bob Thornton

Cocktail Hour

Drinking movie suggestion: The Bad Seed

Benedictions and Maledictions

Happy Saturday!