Being Fabulous

Guess what I got to do last Saturday night?

Go out with the Girls!!! Dinner and a movie. In the Big D.

That would be Dallas to all you non-Texans.

It was a pretty interesting experience. I had a great time, but the best part was that I learned a very important life lesson.

You see, I unnecessarily got all worked up over the fact that I had nothing to wear, my hair had too much gray, I’d eaten too much fast food that week, and that I’d have nothing to say with this group of friends – who, by the way, are all young, rich, and single.

All right. So they are all my ex-students from when I worked at TWU, and they LOVE me. Not enough to share any of that young, rich, and single money that they’ve been earning. But enough to ask me to come out for the last three years – and, which, I’ve said no to each time. But this time, they said they’d pay. And how on earth could I say no to that?

But here’s the problem. Have any of you seen me lately? I’m not exactly the picture of hotness. I’ve got Albert Einstein sprouting from my scalp. How the heck can a grown woman with dead straight hair suddenly get wiry grays sprouting out of her head? That just doesn’t make sense. And the last time I saw this group of, girls, I was Pre-Mom. Meaning, I had no wrinkles, no circles under my eyes, fit into a size 4, and was in my 20’s.

Now, despite what you’ve just read, I have to say that I’m not materialistic at all. In fact, if you want the awful truth, I am typing this while wearing the same outfit I’ve had on for the last 6 days (minus, Saturday night, of course).

And I’ve slept in it the last 2 days. And tonight will probably make a 3rd.

But don’t worry. I’ve changed my underwear each day.

I’m not gross, you know.

But the point is… somehow I let the thought of spending an evening with The Young & The Fabulous turn my tiny insecurities into a mountainous monster of materialism.

How’s that for some alliteration?

So, I did something I thought I’d never do. I took off my beloved Birkenstocks, whispered, “I’m sorry”, and placed them on the shelf. Then, I dug through a box of my old work shoes to see if I had any heels that wouldn’t look ridiculous with my jeans. And then I tried to find a shirt. But seeing that my shirts are the kind that have the dinners of three children on them, I knew I had to take desperate action.

So what’s a woman in a small East Texas town to do? Why, head to Bealls, of course!

You know you live in a small town when the only shopping option within 70 miles is Bealls.

Or Cato.

After the shopping, I decided to tackle Albert Einstein, so I found a bottle of hair dye underneath the bathroom sink and slathered the toxic concoction all over my head.

And in my rush, I forget the gloves. Guess who ended up with purple fingernails?

And I forgot to add in the fragrance packet. So, you can imagine how lovely and chemically I smelled afterwards.

But the best part was that I headed straight to the computer while waiting out my 25 minutes and failed to notice a tiny glob of hair dye that had fallen on my nose – or the larger glob that took up residence on my right temple.

You can imagine the end result, can’t you? Yes. Not only did I have a giant stain on my forehead, but my nose ended up looking like Rudolph’s Misfit Cousin.

I googled what to do and seeing that I didn’t have any cigarette ash (???), I found some nail polish remover and started rubbing.

It didn’t work.

Of course, since I found it in a box that contained an old prom photo and a movie stub from Pretty Woman, I guess it’s fair to say that the stuff expired about, oh, 18 years ago.

The first thing Sim said to me when he got off work was, “Uh, what’s Spain doing on your forehead?”

Thanks, babe. You’re a dear.

And since I was smelling so toxic anyway, I decided to slather on some of that super stinky Jergen’s lotion that doubles up as a tanning lotion. The whole time, I’m thinking about what will happen if someone strikes a match near me. But then I reassure myself with the fact that, most likely, no one is going to get near my toxic self anyway. I mean, I was even making myself nauseous.

So, I wait the required 5 minutes, get dressed, and head on out. I pull down my driver mirror at a stop sign and immediately say a quick prayer that we won’t be eating out on the restaurant patio in the bright sunlight.

I don’t need The Young & The Fabulous to see the moustache that popped up on my 30th birthday.

Because nothing says Uber Sophisticated Mother of Three like a hair dye stain in the shape of a European country, fake orange skin, and a moustache.

I am one hot momma, let me tell you.

But, fortunately, for me, we went to the movie first and then to dinner. And no one noticed my hair dye stain – thanks to my freshly cut bangs – or my purple fingernails, or the new shirt, or any of the stuff I was worried about.

In fact. NO ONE CARED. Because they all had their own problems.

I had foolishly thought that I couldn’t be myself. That I had to look great and wonderful in order to fit in with The Young & The Fabulous.

But you know what? I listened to them talk. And their life isn’t as fabulous as it seems. In fact, they’re going through all the same stuff I went through years ago.. back when I was Young & Fabulous. And even though the grass sometimes seems greener.. .after hearing them go on about their problems… man, you couldn’t pay me to go back to that time in my life.

Because I realized that I AM FABULOUS just the way I am. I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted. A FABULOUS (and darn good looking!) husband. FABULOUS kids. FABULOUS health. FABULOUS friends & family.

I.AM.FABULOUS.

Even if I do have a moustache.