I’m not one to care overmuch about the appearance of things. I usually drive an older car. As long as it runs and it’s safe, I’m happy. I don’t need big and shiny and new.
I used to wear makeup. I stopped this past summer because it was melting off my face. I never started again, because I find I’m happier without it. My left eye doesn’t tear up all day long anymore. And shoes! I used to wear sexy, strappy heels. Now I aim for comfort. If I’m comfortable, I’m happy.
I know a woman who bakes cookies as a side business. She gives the misshapen, slightly overcooked, not perfectly decorated ones to her friends. “It’a all about presentation,” she tells me.
I see elaborately decorated cakes or fruit/vegetable presentations and while I do admire the artistry–some people are really clever and talented enough to pull it off–I wonder, “Why?” Why go to all that work for something that’s going to be eaten anyway?
Okay, yes, I wash my clothes and shower on a regular bases, even though I know they and I will only get dirty again. But a clean body and clean clothing are necessities. A cake that took 100 hours to decorate is not. Who am I trying to impress with cosmetics? I shouldn’t be driving a car at all (but I am a hideously spoiled American).
I would rather be known as fair, honest, and kind than stylish.
