Wednesday

There was a time when I sat with my once weekly pedicured toes, and perfectly manicured nails wearing a fitted top over my "look how good my ass looks" jeans and a pair of perfect little heeled strappy shoes. There was a time with highlights and barrel curls and long hair that wafted in the wind when I turned and picked up the scent of my perfume and sent it out drifting on the breeze. There was a time when the makeup on my face accented my big eyes and perfectly waxed eyebrows and I carried that makeup around in a little black bag in a big trendy purse with a bounce in my step on the way to my freshly washed car to rush out to eat and then to entertain myself by throwing away money at the local pool place.

I think it was a Wednesday.

Most days, I find myself still in my pajamas (a frumpy old lady nightgown) when Jon gets home from working the opening shift at work, with my greasy hair up in a pony tail and no make up on. I am plopped down on a chair watching the light of my life play comfortably in her PJs alternating my role between playmate and Alice from the Brady Bunch making snacks and bottles at just the perfect moment.

My husband says I still clean up nice, which- by the way, is one of the nicest things he could have said to me as I sat with what was left of my physical self esteem in a wasted heap of pity beneath me.

Then it changed.

I think it was a Wednesday again.

I got angry about something and I did a little exercise. That little voice in the back of your head that tells you when your shoes look sexy kicked itself in high gear and started whispering to me. You can do this again.

Two days later I'm still exercising and I've even left the house all cleaned up and dressed up nice. That is, dressed up a little... my nice tshirt and my new jeans. But I had make-up, straightened hair, trendy shoes and earrings and dang it I liked it.

Perhaps that little voice in my head that sends my confidence soaring needs to just get out more...

So I will...

Maybe on Wednesday.