As I am typing this, I am in the midst of a whirlwind of activity. I am about to embark upon the rarest of adventures… A night on the town without my children. I am determined to write my blog this evening and get it out on time, even if my makeup suffers the consequences. I was a day late putting it up last week, and as I have learned from my dieting history, if I start letting things slide they will quickly turn into out of control Wilde-beasts rampaging through the cupboards and submitting things late left and right.

As I was getting ready this evening, twirling (the clumsy version) in front of my husband, and asking his opinion on my outfit, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I have a real shirt on, I’m not wearing yoga pants, and thus far I have no stains on my clothing. And not to toot my own horn or anything (but, toot toot!) I am wearing makeup and jewelry, which is practically unheard of.

Then I happened to wander past a mirror.

The discrepancy between the way I think I look and the way I actually look is alarming to say the least. It truly frightens me that I can be so delusional because it makes me feel as if I’m losing my mental capacity as well as my looks. Here I am, prancing around, thinking I look like my college self, and when I prance past the mirror I am jarred into the reality that I am, in fact, thousands of pounds heavier than I feel and a million years older. As I was gazing mournfully in the mirror, I came to a horrible realization… The way I look now when I’m all dolled up is the way I used to look when I had a really bad hangover in college. Right down to the puffy bags under my eyes.

I have been telling myself since the birth of my youngest (three years ago), that I’m just tired and I’m not getting enough sleep and if I could just get a couple of extra hours I would look like a million dollars.

I got ten hours of sleep last night and guess what, this is just how I look now!!! I am mystified.

I don’t think of myself as being particularly old, I am certainly youthful and vibrant in my own mind, so what’s with my face and body deciding to age??? I am sincerely angry about it. How dare they betray me this way?!? Especially considering the amount of money and I spend on face creams, devices, wrinkle eliminators, and sunscreen trying to keep my face looking like it’s former self.

It’s nights like these, when I’m caught in a spiral of “my body is dying all around me” thoughts and visions of myself using a walker and having purple granny hair that I am grateful for the unrelenting advances of my husband.

This man cannot let me bend over to pick something up from the floor without trying to grab my butt… And when someone treats you like some sort of sex object all the time, you can’t help but feel at least a little sexy on occasion.

For instance, when I marched out of the bathroom this evening and said to him, “You said I looked great! I look like a sister wife!!!” he calmly replied, “Well, you do… But you are a SEXY sister wife.”

Well, hopefully this made sense and contains no typos because I am leaving it as it is, much like its author, in all of it’s imperfect glory, because I will NOT be more than five minutes late for my girl’s night out.

Have a wonderful week everyone!!!

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