I often entertain the idea of becoming all sorts of different things when I grow up - massage therapist, financial planner, exercise rider, yoga instructor, electrician, you know, the usual. Just because I entertain the thought doesn't mean I'm serious. I love that Mr. Wumpus not only supports this, he also gamely plays along.
Last night I was invited for my first night out since moving here. It was for a facial, or so I thought. In truth it was for a "makeover"...at a Mary Kay meeting. But instantly I was OK with that when the woman at the front proclaimed, "In every meeting there is someone for whom Mary Kay might be the right fit." Inside my dreamer said "Pick me!".
No really, I don't want to be a makeup lady. Hell, I only learned how to apply liquid liner THIS year. And I am 30 years old. Seriously. My mum, sisters and girlfriends took one look at this 13 year old tomboy and must have said "No hope. Let's focus on a girl we can have an effect on."
They were probably right, but my problem is I'm addicted to possibility and opportunity. I hear there's a desperate need for curbside recycling in this city and I'm half way through a business plan before I realize I don't really want to pick up recycling for a living. True story.
Back to getting my make up done. First, it was a great evening. I'm not knocking Mary Kay - the stuff was nice, not smelly, went on nicely and I walked out looking only a little like a street walker. The woman who invited me is a peach and we had a great hour getting to know each other.
But as I sat there in that small group of welcoming spirits I really truly did think about becoming a Mary Kay lady. That was, of course, until I looked around the room more closely. Each and every single one of the MK girls had the exact same hairstyle - short, highlighted and colored to cover the gray - frameless glasses with dark arms, a dark, boxy skirt suit and low dark heels. I cannot make this up. Even their body shapes were, more of less, exactly the same. I giggled only a little at being the junior in the room by at least 15 to 20 years and wearing jeans and a colour other than black.
But hey, at least the hair is short and highlighted. Maybe they'll have me?