Pretender Bender

A bender. It is commonly used to describe a person going completely off the cliff and doing something stupid like, I dunno, drinking themselves into oblivion. And even though most people use it to describe some diabolical action like drinking or drugging excessively, it is a loaded word that can be used in various situations. This particular situation can be such a time to use the word appropriately.

I was telling a couple of friends who know my fashion handicap that as of late I have been doing quite well with myself. I managed to squeeze out a couple of dollars for some key fall/winter pieces (damn near fainted at the register–not from sticker shock but from spending money on myself period), I am managing to wear them appropriately, and my eyebrows have finally been waxed. It actually feels good…easy…comfortable. Nothing I am doing to or draping on myself feels fake and phoney. It feels authentically like muah.

I think I sucked at that a lot. I fell into what others wanted or didn’t want. I ignored what they ignored and paid attention to what they paid attention to. I pretended….a lot. Being solo-dolo, the only one that matters is me (yes, I realize that should have been the concern all along–save the chastising please). I gotta be honest, too, wearing make up, getting (and keeping) the tresses done, and managing to be fashionably comfy is hard to do when you are bombarded with poopy diapers, spit ups, bottles and the like. None of that makes a woman feel oh-so-pretty. Tack on a few more years and you find yourself working, homeworking, shuttling, and crashing. None of that screams heels and lip gloss either.

But now I have learned the balance (and now that The Kids are basically self sufficient), it seems quite easy. I stopped pretending to be something I am not. I will probably never be under 250 lbs. I will probably always have back fat rolls and a beer belly midsection. I will probably always prefer ponytails over hair weaved all down my back. I will most likely always be head over heels in love with sweats and baseball hats. Fake eye lashes, fake hair, fake asses (even though belly fat to ass redistribution is on my ‘if I win the lottery’ list), complicated outfits and such are far from my radar. My pretender bender is over, thank God.

I pretended for a long time not to be exactly what I am.  I went on a bender of sorts for quite some time. I squeezed into odd shaped holes that I was never designed to fit. I am so glad it is over. So glad I decided to just be fashionably, awkwardly, selfishly me. The room can finally stop spinning and the guilt hangover can finally cease.


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