Body, I have a bone to pick with you. It’s bad enough dragging you out of bed every morning. It’s depressing to realize you’re operating eight notches slower than the rest of the world is spinning. And if I’ve hit the snooze button like I usually do and there is no time to swing by Starbucks, then on top of everything else I have to live with the knowledge that this fuzziness will exist for at least the next hour. Which is miz. Truly, it’s awful. I. hate. it. So do you want to know what is worse? I will tell you what is worse. You ready?
WHY is it necessary, on top of all that, after I’ve finally dragged myself in front of the mirror and wrangled my hair into pseudo-submission and maybe even felt ambitious and put on makeup… Why–WHY must I have bags under my eyes that make me look like Fruma Sarah from the dream sequence of Fiddler on the Roof? WHY?! I already feel miserable enough, so this extra bit of humiliation is unnecessary. Do you hear me? UNNECESSARY. I already feel like I could tear one of those unsuspecting chipper “morning” types apart with merely the red hot beams of my tired, resentful eyes (ANNOYING. They are more commonly referred to as ANNOYING PEOPLE), but do I have to look the part, too? DO I?
(get ready for some creative punctuation)
Because this is what I hate: I hate that I can have on a new outfit, clean hair, mascara, eyeshadow and eyeliner, for goodness sakes–that I can be wearing heels, a good bra, and LIP GLOSS for crying out loud–I might even accessorize my outfit with coordinating jewelry… I can even spritz on yummy perfume that makes men and women alike sniff unsubtly and appreciatively… and might I add that this picture I’ve just painted—this put-together, well-dressed Josie I just described—she only occurs maybe once or twice a month, okay? I can do ALL THAT and STILL, if it’s before 10 AM, there is no disguising those tired, worn out, did-somebody-sock-her in-the-face bags under my eyes.
What. The. Heck.
And for those of you who didn’t understand my Fruma Sarah reference, well, that just proves you and I grew up in very, very different households. Let me guess, you also probably wake up in the morning looking fresh and sprightly as a springtime daisy. Goody for you. Well, in any case, allow me to educate you: While the rest of the movie had me dreaming of a man who could make me fall in love deeply enough to leave my family far behind without a second glance (it sounded like a higher standard in my youth), this is the scene that had me clutching the covers over my head in terror for the better part of my childhood: