Always on the look out to make a bit of extra cash, I picked up a couple of shifts working over the weekend at the Scottish Exhibition and Conference Centre (SECC) here in G Town. It wasn’t until I showed up for my first shift yesterday morning that I realised the event in question was the annual Girls Day Out weekend, Scotland’s biggest health, lifestyle, fashion and beauty event. Two things immediately came to mind; 1. Holy Hell, there’s going to be a LOT of oestrogen packed into this place and 2. Just how much of a crap girl am I that I didn’t even have the slightest inkling that something as big as this event was happening!
At this stage, Dear Reader, you should know that there is nothing even remotely “girly” about me. I don’t pay attention to clothes… or fashion in general; my idea of make up is a tube of chap stick and I’ve owned a hair straightener for about 3 years but still cannot really get my hair properly unwavy each time I use it. Mainly because I’m too afraid of burning my ears. But that’s a story for a whole other blog post. For now, just pop in the mental picture of a straight talking, no make up wearing, plain dressing girl suddenly surrounded by the largest number of women she has EVER seen together in one place at one time.
It was rather interesting watching the long lines stream past me. Women of all ages, shapes and sizes. Fashionable ones and fake tanned ones. Carefully coiffed ones and carelessly dressed ones. Moms with daughters, Sisters with Mothers and Grandmothers, Gaggles of Girl Friends…. all out for a day of fun together.
I found myself focusing on the more carefully put together women. For some, looking good seemed effortless. How did they know to match that top with those jeans? And how do they get their hair to fall in such bountiful curls? Even my colleagues were very well put together young ladies who had eyed me with blatant disbelief as I tumbled into the staff room, hot and sweaty from the 30 minute walk from home with windswept hair and sensible (read non cute) shoes.
For the most part, I am comfortable in my skin and very happy with being me. Still, every now and then I do feel a twinge of regret re the whole “girly-ness” issue. My mum is just as bad as I am, worse even and I’ve often wondered if I would have benefited from her teaching me how to do my hair, or wear makeup or properly wield hair straighteners.
But that regret usually lasts just moments. I usually shake out my unruly mane, stick my hands into my non fashionable jeans and focus instead on all the things that she DID teach me.
Honesty. Loyalty. Friendship. Love.
Just a few examples of her life lessons. I guess she wasn’t so focused on teaching me to be a good girl. Instead, she tried to teach me how to be a good person. So much better than being able to tie a French braid, don’t you think?
At this stage, Dear Reader, you should know that there is nothing even remotely “girly” about me. I don’t pay attention to clothes… or fashion in general; my idea of make up is a tube of chap stick and I’ve owned a hair straightener for about 3 years but still cannot really get my hair properly unwavy each time I use it. Mainly because I’m too afraid of burning my ears. But that’s a story for a whole other blog post. For now, just pop in the mental picture of a straight talking, no make up wearing, plain dressing girl suddenly surrounded by the largest number of women she has EVER seen together in one place at one time.
It was rather interesting watching the long lines stream past me. Women of all ages, shapes and sizes. Fashionable ones and fake tanned ones. Carefully coiffed ones and carelessly dressed ones. Moms with daughters, Sisters with Mothers and Grandmothers, Gaggles of Girl Friends…. all out for a day of fun together.
I found myself focusing on the more carefully put together women. For some, looking good seemed effortless. How did they know to match that top with those jeans? And how do they get their hair to fall in such bountiful curls? Even my colleagues were very well put together young ladies who had eyed me with blatant disbelief as I tumbled into the staff room, hot and sweaty from the 30 minute walk from home with windswept hair and sensible (read non cute) shoes.
For the most part, I am comfortable in my skin and very happy with being me. Still, every now and then I do feel a twinge of regret re the whole “girly-ness” issue. My mum is just as bad as I am, worse even and I’ve often wondered if I would have benefited from her teaching me how to do my hair, or wear makeup or properly wield hair straighteners.
But that regret usually lasts just moments. I usually shake out my unruly mane, stick my hands into my non fashionable jeans and focus instead on all the things that she DID teach me.
Honesty. Loyalty. Friendship. Love.
Just a few examples of her life lessons. I guess she wasn’t so focused on teaching me to be a good girl. Instead, she tried to teach me how to be a good person. So much better than being able to tie a French braid, don’t you think?
1 comment:
Amen sister!
PP
Post a Comment