Monday, September 24, 2018

Bruised Vanity

I think vanity is a trait all women have, to a certain degree. Some women are super concerned about how they look, others not so much, and still others claim they couldn’t care less, but I think they do care a teeny tiny bit. 

I think I fall into the middle category. I style my hair most days. Some days I put make up on. Some days I even put jewelry on. Some days I fret about my weight. Most of the time I’m just, like, “Sigh. Take me as I am.” 

When I go to the pool or to the beach, I know that I look like a whale. Either a beached whale or a swimming whale. I feel much more graceful and confident in the water than out of it, which might be why I love swimming so much. Plus, only my head is on display for the world to see. The varicose veins, the cellulite, the fat, the flabby arms, the bellowing calves and thighs, well, they are more hidden. Which is a good thing, let me tell you. This is not a body the world wants to see.

However, I have another issue which bothers me even more, I believe. It’s the bruises. Oh my gosh, I have bruises. I have bruised easily for years and as I age, you guessed it, I bruise even more effortlessly. And the bruises get bigger and prettier. So, later this week, when I am sunning myself on the beach in Florida, I will already have good color. There will be a lot of black and blue, green and yellow, with a little purple thrown in for good measure. 

At the doctor’s office I am never sure how to fill out my nationality. There used to be a box that I could check that said, “caucasian” but apparently that no long exits. Now it says, “white.” Well, truthfully, I am not white. I am a kaleidoscope of colors. I generally check the “white” box anyway but I feel a bit like a liar every time I do. And of course, once actually in the doctor’s office, I am always questioned, “How did you get these bruises?”

I wonder what the doctors and nurses think about my standard reply, “I don’t know. I probably ran into something.”

Because that’s the truth. I probably ran into something. I have been in a hurry since I was a child. Why, I don’t know. But I take corners too closely, hitting walls and cupboards. I take the easy way out, like standing on a chair (sometimes I find one that doesn't have wheels) instead of getting a step stool or ladder. And then I fall off the chair while getting down. One time in doing that, I managed to come down, hard, on a decorative metal post on the back of the chair. The pain was agonizing. It reminded me of those times I’ve seen a man lying on the ground, curled up in the fetal position, in absolute anguish. Because that’s exactly what happened to me. I ended up with an enormous bruise on my buttocks from that mishap. If you don’t believe me, just ask Tim or one of our daughters. They still have memories of the night at supper time when I got up, turned around and mooned them to show them how bad the bruise was. They tell me I scarred them for life, but too bad. My misery at the time was much worse. 

And just this last Saturday I was hauling too many totes and displays on a new cart as I was setting up at a craft show. The items all tumbled off and I fell forward onto the cart. I now have a multitude of additional bruises on my legs and arms. At least the weather is turning cold - so I am more likely to wear long pants. Except, of course, later this week when I will be in warm and sunny Florida, parading my bruised legs and arms for all to see. I am going to have to leave my vanity at home on the shelf.

3 comments:

  1. I like your blog. Don’t stop writing.

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  2. Very well written and interesting. I always enjoy your adventures and memories. And I am now on medication which makes any little bump a bruise so I relate to the colorful skin.

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