She was just a ghost, anyway.
It’s not that I’m never girly. I am. I’m just not very good at being girly.
I am 51 years old and have been wearing makeup nearly every day for about 37 years now. I have applied my eye shadow the exact same way for all those years.
I saw a post on Facebook (multiple times) that said something to the effect of: Holy fuck! You aren’t still applying your eye shadow like this are you? And then it showed a picture of eye shadow applied exactly the way I apply eye shadow. I also might have paraphrased the ‘holy fuck’ part.
I’m sure a true girly girl would have many eye shadow tricks in her makeup tool kit, but I just have the one. I don’t care what the judgmental Facebook post says, I’m not changing.
My limited skills at being a girly girl was identified early in life. I remember wearing a skirt to school way back in the 7th grade at Conner Junior High. It was 1976 and my skirt was knee length and had a funky seventies striped pattern. Mrs Fortney passed me a note. I looked up at her and saw a look I knew well from my teachers. Bitter disappointment and disapproval. The note said If you are going to wear a skirt, then learn to sit like a lady.
I can only imagine that my knees were splayed and my skirt was bunched up around my thighs and my Holly Hobby undies were on full display.
Hahaha. Just kidding. I didn’t have Holly Hobby undies.
A year later, while sitting in gym class next to Billy Long (who I had a massive crush on) The gym teacher whose name escapes me, asked me if I was a boy or a girl. This is devastating to an 8th grade girl. I had on makeup and hoop earrings. Sure, my training bra wasn’t necessary yet, but my hair was feathered! I had on girl’s earth shoes!
Still, not very girly.
As I’m writing this, I recall a boy from the 8th grade named Buddy Day. Buddy was a dick. These are the things I remember him saying to me:
Your boobs are like a pirates dream. A sunken chest.
Hey! Hey dreamboat! Not YOU, shipwreck.
But I digress.
I had big hair all through the eighties and I could rock the acid wash with the best of them, but it was an effort. Mostly, my hair was up in a banana clip and my clothes were the least dirty and wrinkled ones laying on my bedroom floor.
Honestly, other than the banana clip, that hasn’t changed much.
A guy I used to work with at my current job told me once that my sense of style was very interesting, it was like I didn’t have a sense of style at all.
HAHAHAH. My sense of style is this: Does it smell bad? Does it kind of match? Where are my black shoes?
Now, let’s talk about eyebrows. In their natural state, my eyebrows look like woolly caterpillars. I don’t pluck, I just trim them. When I was young, I plucked them into perfectly round arches so I looked like I was constantly hearing something shocking. But that got cumbersome. The problem now, is that I’m getting some wild ass wiry white eyebrow hairs that look like they are planning a coup. I decided that just grabbing them and yanking them out was a good idea.
Not a good idea.
My vision isn’t what it used to be and what I did was grab a bunch of eyebrow hairs that were still brown and gave myself a bald spot in my eyebrow above my left eye. I learned very quickly that a white eyebrow hair is better than a bald spot.
I attempted to correct this by filling in the bald spot with a brown eyebrow pencil. My ruse was successful and I went off to work confident in the knowledge that I at least had the appearance of a complete set of eyebrows.
This would have worked out fine if I could keep my hands off my face.
I’m a face rubber. I get tired and rub my face. I get hot and rub my face. I get annoyed and rub my face. It’s amazing I still have skin left.
When you’ve filled in an eyebrow with brown eyebrow pencil, it is imperative that you do not rub your face.
I rubbed my face.
At one point in the day, I went into the bathroom at work and noticed two things. One, the bald spot was back and two, I had a brown streak going up my forehead. How long had I been walking around looking like I tried to eat chocolate with my eyeballs? Or for fuck’s sake, accidentally smeared shit on my forehead?
A true girly girl would never have a brown streak on her forehead.
I have tried to convince myself that underneath it all lies the heart of a girly girl. I mean underneath all of it. But the truth is, not so much.
I’m ready to let that notion go. I’m okay with not being a girly girl. This doesn’t mean that I can’t do my hair and makeup and rock some heels on occasion. Well, as long as I don’t have a lot of walking to do. Those fucking shoes are just for show. I will still apply my eyeliner a little uneven and then chase it down the sides of my eyes all day long. If y’all have any recommendations for eyeliner that doesn’t smear, please let me know.
I’ll just leave the girly girl habits to the professionals. Now, if you need me, I’ll be curled up on my bed wearing sweatpants, one of Randy’s t-shirts and reading a book.
By reading a book, I mean watching TV.