Out of sheer boredom the other day, I picked up a copy of a woman's fashion magazine so I would have something to read as I waited in the school parking lot for my daughter.
It took me all of five pages to realize why I quit reading womans fashion magazines. But, because of aforementioned sheer boredom, I continued to read on...or at least look at the pictures.
The magazine showed me clothes I could never wear, jewelery I had no place to wear, shoes I had no business to wear if I wanted to walk without the aid of a cane. Make-up in colors that did not occur naturally on a human being...eye shadows in shades of decay, blushes in tones of the other side of severe sunburn. Lips tinted in the same hues of blues I had last seen gracing a stiff laying in Ducky's morgue on NCIS. Why was I still flipping through the pages of this rag?
I found a perfume sample towards the middle that smelled nice, and gave myself a paper cut when I tried to rub the scented page across my wrist.
The last time I attempted make-up, I poked myself in the eye with the mascara wand. I gave up lipstick years ago after the my dog rearranged my upper lip. Blush...who needs it when one has Rosacea? Hair styles? My hair is giving up on that one all on it's own every time I watch it sluice down the shower drain like black and white blood from the movie Psycho.
Dressing up? I wore sneakers to my sister's wedding. My heels have not been elevated since the Stacked-Heel Sandal Incident of '02. It is very difficult to appear sober to a group of high-brows leaving a wine and food pairing dinner that one is not inebriated as one is trying not fall off her heels.
So, I have established that fashion mags speak to me no longer. But, there are alternatives for the almost 50 female set, full of articles that sing, "Yes, you CAN be flirty, feminine, fun, even as your body falls into the disarray and disrepair of decrepitude.
And who do I find gracing the cover of such magazine? Sally Field. Perky Senior Citizen Extraordinaire. Former Gidget and Ex Flying Nun. Ageless Freak Of Nature. She poses on the cover, sitting like a pretzel, beaming as if too say, "Look at me! I can still bend at the knees and look fashionable doing so!"
I give up. I think I'll stick to Field and Stream. At least I can still fish.