Reclaiming my inner girly-girl

Even in my heyday, I don't think you could have called me high maintenance.  I've been around that kind of girl --- hair, make-up, nails, jewelry, designer clothes.  Maybe it's the ol' drunk in me, but I could never hold it together long enough to pull that off.  When I was inspired, I would go through streaks of remembering to put in earrings, wearing little dresses and most of all, heels.


I had the model.  My mother taught kindergarten in full skirted dresses and high heels, just like on tv.  And stockings, not pantyhose.  They hadn't been invented yet.  I never saw her without lipstick, even at home, and she always had long, red fingernails.  I loved to watch her get dressed, tugging at the girdle, carefully pulling on the stockings, and clipping them with those little rubber and metal clips.  She only wore powder and lipstick on her face, and a little dab of perfume behind each ear and at her throat and wrists.  I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. 


My big, special present when I turned 13 was lipstick, nail polish and a compact.  It was bat mitzvah in a cosmetic bag.  I could finally be a woman, too.  There was a stretch of about ten years after that when I tried to emulate my mother and Jackie Kennedy.  I could never be consistent about it, and after getting married five months short of my 19th birthday, it didn't seem as necessary.  After all, wasn't the goal of all that girly stuff to secure a husband?  Anyway, it was the sixties and if your skirt was short enough, that's all you needed.


From time to time, especially when I was between relationships, I'd haul out the make-up and the  curling iron.  Lots of times it was fun, like playing dressups in my mommy's shoes.  When I got my first salaried job in my twenties, I went to a department store cosmetics counter and had my face done and bought a ton of stuff.  Some of it is still probably kicking around under the bathroom cabinet.


Living in San Francisco was my first introduction to urban womanhood.  My expenses were low enough and my salary sufficient to cover some decadent living --- at least it seemed decadent to me.  I bought shoes that weren't "buy one, 2nd pair half price" and had my hair cut at a Gore Vidal salon.  I bought more department store cosmetics and started seeing a trendy chiropractor on a regular basis.  I was quite the lady, I thought.


I couldn't keep it up forever, it's just not my nature, I guess.  Over the years, I would dash to the store to find a new outfit for special events, usually unhappy with my overall presentation and not sure what to do about it.  Money was an inhibitor, I thought.  Age became a factor.  I have a horror of appearing as mutton dressed like lamb.


When I finally came out of the closet and looked around at the lesbians my age, I was so relieved  to feel like I could unabashedly be myself.  Or could I?  Looking for clues to a new cultural identity, I made some quick (and inaccurate) decisions.  Out went the long skirts and peasant blouses.  Off went the hair ---- that was a relief!  The holes in my ears grew together from neglect and my earrings were relegated to the bathroom drawer.  Jeans, t-shirts, boots or sandals.  What else would a middle aged lesbian need, I ask you?  I could even wear my spare tire without shame.


And now?  Who knows.  My closet is stuffed with beloved things that don't fit and clothes for every eventuality.  I still live in t-shirts and jeans or shorts and flip-flops, but I'm eyeing some of these summer shift-like dresses in bright colors.  I can't say I don't care at all, but I'm far more able to check with my mood, my sense of fun, the projects for the day, and go from there.


The nail polish bottles are lined up because I love to paint my toenails. The toe rings, ankle bracelets, necklaces and earrings are showing up again, and delighting me with their sparkle and color.  I can wear swishy skirts and even some heels, and it both reflects and creates a mood for me.  Since I'd rather not spend money on haircuts, my hair is longer than it's been in years, almost touching my shoulders. And sometimes, once in awhile, I even put on the lipstick.


Jill just laughs and takes me as I come.  I think it's really true, what she says.  She loves me from the inside out.  I kinda do too.