Not that I have all that much time for pre-occupation, but I'm looking at these kids on American Idol, and I am thinking of the wonder of the STYLIST. Really.
The girls are kind of starting to look like Jenny from the Block, and the boys are edging closer and closer to the wackiness of Steve Tyler. Just one quick look at the audition tapes tells us that these are normal looking dudes, all of them.
And now it's all cascading hair, statement accessories, well-fitting suits and strutting in heels like it was always this way. One girl even had a Beyonce moment with orange chiffon, bronzer and a well-placed fan in front of her blonde locks. Lucky her!
What am I actually saying here?
I want a goddamned stylist! I want to be pimped and preened every goddamned day for no reason whatsoever. Anyone can look good if only they had the team at work for them.
So unfair.
Why am I even thinking about this? Perhaps it is the dreaded 36 around the next corner. I'm sure I could style away the ageing process, if only I had the resources at my disposal.
Maybe I'll get some hair extensions, fake eyelashes and spanx, cobble them together in un-expert fashion, and sashay down the stairs to the horror of my family next week. They won't know me out of my leggings and sports bra! Obviously this 'simple' at-home makeover will be a revelation for life and love.
Yes, that's what I'll do. Spend more time on learning to apply false eyelashes in the home, and less time on actual life. Must redress the imbalance!
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