Satisfying beauty

There’s a hole in my stockings, I just realized. And I have no plans to run out for a new pair.

I’ve been rubbing a dab of lipstick on my cheeks for weeks. Because I have run out of blusher.

I can’t remember the last time I wore nail polish. It seems like so much effort.

And despite the upward creep of the numbers on my scale, I chose a pot of tea and the newspaper over exercise this morning.

I used to be fierce.

I used to take pride in the curve of my hips and the nip of my waist. In the sharp line of my haircut and the smart click of my heels. I used to revel in the power yielded by beauty and youth.

My beauty and youth.

But now it is not my beauty and youth that makes my heart swell.

Now it is his chubby tummy and the delicious way the cuffs of his jeans kiss his stylish sneakers that make me catch my breath. Now my yearning for the divine is satiated by lilt of his eyelashes and the exquisite hazel hue of his eyes.

And it is enough.

There’s a hole in my stocking, I have lipstick on my cheeks, my nails are bare and my tea is beckoning.

And that’s more than good enough, right now.

Right now.

Regularly scheduled maintenance

It's so great to drive a brand-new car isn't it?

It roars to life at just the gentlest touch. It hums like a bird at any speed. You can be rough with it, neglectful even, and yet it drives with confidence.

Eventually the car will start to show its age a little. The engine gets louder, less graceful. It starts to lurch around, rather than hug, the corners. You start to notice bumps and thumps, tiny dents and scratches, that were never there before. You worry that things are starting to really break down.

One day you wake up and you realize your car is on its way to beater-hood. You can't afford a new one, so you vow to do all you can to stave off the inevitable. You slow down. You start changing the oil on a regular basis. You start taking those bumps and thumps seriously. It gets increasingly time-consuming and increasingly expensive.

And the most frustrating thing? Despite all your efforts, that car just doesn't feel like the sleek, little beauty you drove off the lot all those years ago.

Yup, I'm sure you figured it out less than halfway through that belaboured metaphor; I am that car.

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