It began like any other morning. Actually no, rewind, it didn’t. This morning one child blessed us with a lie in-no dawn time stirring for her today. No, today she stayed in slumber’s clutches until eight bells. Then, amazingly, her sister followed suit. We called it “the granny effect”. Irish granny is in town to babysit the girls. It’ll be the first time anyone has babysat the two of them, together for a period longer than three hours. Mama & Papa are off to a wedding today. The routine has begun in earnest.
For Mama, this means a small fortune has been spent in the hairdressers and at the beauty salon and I am visibly lighter due to the shedding of hair from body head and body. Sally Hansen has been applied in large quantities to alleviate some of the Irish pastiness, nail varnish has been plopped onto fingernails with more than a little haste-I honestly cannot remember the last time I applied nail varnish. The dress has been drycleaned, the matching accessories have been acquired from Penneys. The war paint has been slopped on.
This is the routine. The routine of preening and plucking, of designing and drawing,of waxing and waiting for divine inspiration to strike your jaded wardrobe. Which outfit to choose? This leads to the dance with the dress- pulling ones on, sucking the post pregnancy stomach in and trying to squeeze your soft body into hidden gems at the back of the wardrobe, taking ones off, mixing, matching, despairing, until finally going back to the first choice. It’s always the first choice isn’t it?
This is the routine I along with millions of women around the world follow. Sometimes I fee like giving up and just going for a suit.Men have it so easy. Except there’s something about the routine that sucks you back in. It speaks to the little girl inside you. The one who thought going to shops to try on hats and fascinators was the height of sophistication at age 3. The little girl who loved to climb onto her mother’s dressing table and try on the brightest red lipstick she could find or the one who spent hours practicing her walk in her older sister’s high heeled shoes.
As a mother of girls, I have no doubt my daughters will come to embrace the beginnings of their own beauty routine in years to come. It’s something engrained in us as women, cemented through centuries of playing the peacock in order to capture our mate. Some say it shouldn’t be like this, that it’s what inside that counts but damn it, if dressing up and making yourself all pretty like isn’t a lot of fun too!
What beauty routine do you follow before a big day or night out?