Wednesday 29 January 2014

Mid-Week Confessions

  I was in the check-out lane at the grocery store the other day, (a-several-times-a-week-occurrence), and I was doing really well.  I'd stuck to the list.  There was nothing in my cart that didn't belong; nothing frivolous, last minute, or out of the ordinary.  
  I was feeling pleased with myself. 
  Seriously pleased.
  When my eyes were snagged to a halting stop on something shiny.  Sparkly.  Fancy and new!
  What is a girl, whose life is fill to an overflowing capacity with boys, supposed to do?  
  Well you guessed it. 
  I reached out with my right hand, slowly, to the small box that held the prize I needed to feel like a girl.
  Can you imagine?  Can you imagine what it could be?
  Maybe you need to understand first what was running through my mind, which I am obviously more than willing to supply the details of.
  It was earlier in the week and I was about to get sweaty.  Sweaty as in really, seriously get in a a workout.  It was girl's night out on the volleyball court and I was lucky enough to be a part of the game that night.  Only my hair elastic had other ideas.  
  Now, I have a love hate relationship with this mop of hair I've been growing, for what seems like forever.  Anyway, I raised my hands to pull on my hair to tighten and adjust the slender black band that held it in place when, you guessed it, it popped.
  My hair spilled down my back, and there is no way to functionally play with that disaster flying around my face.
   Luckily I had a spare.  Or three to be precise.  YES, I think in this particular instance, I definitely suffer a bit of OCD.
  You get the picture.  Thankfully I had a spare and the evening was saved, because, let's be honest here, it would not have been pretty had I not had a back up.
  Now you need to understand how cheap I am.  Like I seriously hate spending money.  So when I purchased the dollar store elastics I was feeling pretty pleased with myself and the thriftiness that often evades me.  
  Well speed forward a few days and although my jar of elastics was overflowing, I was also blowing through one a day.  Maybe worth it ... maybe not.
  Okay, so you must get the idea by now, aside from the fact that I am often a walking disaster I also have a story to wrap up here.
  So back to the grocery store.
  That sparkly box of clear, pale pink-plastic, ouch-less, tangle-free and, did I mention sparkly? elastics; they definitely called my name.
  So I failed at no embellishments at the grocery store, but I now am the proud owner of little kid, sparkly, clear plastic, ouch-less, ponytail holders.
  I can go further.
  Instead of hanging a spare elastic around my wrist or wrapped around my finger, stuffed in my pocket or hidden in my wallet, I now have a clear plastic sparkly band wrapped around my finger like it was the finest piece of jewelry.  I have no excuses to use.
  I have no daughters.
  My niece doesn't use them.
  It wasn't forgotten during a play date, and I didn't purchase them by mistake.
  No, indeed.
  I like these hair holders.
  I LOVE that they sparkle.
  I love that they really don't hurt when you pull them out recklessly.
  I love that they stay in, with only two wrap-arounds, in this disaster of a mop I have nearly lost all patience with and will likely cut in the next week or two.

  Here's what I know
  
  I am a girl:
  That means I like sparkly things.
  I sometimes enjoy the frivolous.
  It's alright if pink is my favorite color.
  I don't need an excuse to put some sparkle in my wardrobe.
  Accessories, even a sparkly hair band, can change the day.

  It's fluff.  I know.  I'm okay with it.  I take myself much too seriously more often than not, so this morning, I can embrace the silly and fly the flag.

  Cheers!
  
  

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