I feel pretty

Yesterday was the first day after a haircut. Women know what this day means. It is the big test to see if they can recreate in their tresses all the bounce, shine and fun that their hairdresser did. I armed myself with hair product, my blow dryer and two different brushes to try to coax my locks into showing volume, shine and sleekness. I was nervous but felt prepared and had a tactic in mind so I set to work.

I had already done my make up and was pleased that my face was not red and cranky much. I had managed to apply just the right hint of eye shadow to enhance my peepers in natural shades. If I could get my hair to do what I knew it could, I'd be set.

I started off with good volume, but I couldn't get the hair to lay in the right place and stay. My bangs fell hopelessly infront of my eyes, no amount of sticky paste or hairspray could convince it otherwise. On top of that, I had over-done it on the product. My strands looked heavy and greasy. I was dismayed.

Stephen had just arrived looking cool in his green hooded sweater, jeans and a moto jacket and suggested that we start our afternoon out with a drink.I stood in front of the mirror and assessed. My hair was a small fail. My outfit, comprised of a red t-shirt layered over a long-sleeved white and black striped t-shirt and dark jeans, which had seemed fine a moment ago now showed a frumpy side. I frowned and the little red balloon in my heart that carries my spunk and confidence completely deflated. I felt un-pretty.

I don't think guys can really understand when a girl says she doesn't feel pretty or what difference it makes. I know Stephen looks at me and sees the same blue eyes he saw on our first date. The clothes I put on don't matter much and he has told me he still thinks I'm beautiful with my face all washed off for the night. He says lovely things but still, I want to feel pretty on my own terms. 

It didn't really matter before Stephen, but now it does. I want to feel kissable when I am with my beau. I want to feel like the girl he wants to plant one on in the middle of the produce section at Safeway. A frumpy outfit and bad hair doesn't make me feel kissable. It makes me feel like the friend who is tagging along on the outing.

It's hard to give love to someone else if you're not feeling in love with yourself first.  To do that takes care, time and a strong effort at being gentle to one's self in front of the mirror. It starts with appreciating your bare skin and loving all the freckles, lines and scars. Then it means loving the hug of the clothes on your body and seeing the features that are so striking they command the world's attention. A smile, vivid eyes, a beautiful neck, legs that go on forever--anything. It is seeing all this and knowing it comes with the soul of someone with beautiful, loveable qualities and quirks. When I lose touch with these things I need time and space alone to find them again, which is hard when your boyfriend is standing there looking la-ti-da amazing himself and you have about 15 minutes to get out the door so you can get your to-do list done.

On top of feeling un-presentable that afternoon, my house also felt like a mess. In the kitchen I started to spin out from it all, This climaxed with me trying to find a place for the microwave plate cover in the refrigerator.

"AHH! What am I doing?" I slammed the fridge door shut and threw the cover on the toaster. Stephen grabbed me by the shoulders, spun me around, and hugged me. Bad hair, frumpy outfit, messy kitchen me. 

I did end up changing my outfit and I covered my hair up with a cute hat. I smiled in the mirror when I was done with the transformation. I felt pretty and when Stephen and I walked hand in hand out of the restaurant, I felt happy, beautiful, and loved.