A Bridget Jones Day

Fags: 0
Snogs: 0
Likelihood of snogs: 0 due to…
Weight: 2 skinny Renee Zellwegers

I intended to drop into the cushion with appropriate dramatic flair, but misjudged and bounced off the plastic frame to fall over my bag and land ungracefully in the aisle surrounded by an explosion of books and excess flesh. My offending white socks, the only pair left in the drawer this morning, exposed the new run that I had acquired in the dash to the train station. Drat. Clumsy, fat, and unfashionable, could it get any worse? The fates laughed their cruel, maniacal rumble for I had no idea their plans for me this Bridget Jones Day.

Late (as always), I rushed into Mutual for the girls’ “Health and Beauty” fair. My uncontrollable hair was undoing the dovetail braid I had placed that morning and I had not a hint of makeup left on my face – except, apparently, badly applied eye shadow.

The nubile bodies of the young women perched excitedly on metal chairs as the Makeup Goddess explained skin care. When I entered, she looked at me, remarked on my lateness, and then resumed her description of exfoliation.

I acquired a chair slightly off center from the group; I did not want too much attention when I had already had a disastrous day. Unfortunately, my unkempt look seemed to the Makeup Goddess a perfect bad example for the sweet-cheeked, fresh-faced youth of the church.

We turned a bad corner when she tossed the exfoliation cream at me after the following explanation: “Young girls don’t need to worry about skin slough, but old skin should exfoliate daily.”

Old? I’m barely 28! When did I get so old that I need daily exfoliation?

This pattern repeated throughout the night.

Goddess: “A thick cream helps reduce visible signs of wrinkling.” Plunk. The product hit my lap.

Goddess: “Microdermabrasion can really reduce the redness in your skin.” Swish. A pamphlet found its way into my bag.

Goddess: “Adult acne can be treated with salicylic acid.” Zoom. The tube of Acne Blaster flew at my head.

I could hear the antioxidant generals signing the truce agreement with my aging skin as wrinkles and age spots spontaneously appeared across my forehead. “Well, boys, we did all we could on this front. Time to regroup and see if we can hold on to the heart and central nervous system for a few more years.”

As we neared the actual makeup, every bell and whistle of foreboding had sounded in my head. Goddess then proceeded to choose the prettiest of our girls (yeah, like she really needed a makeover) and to explain the process of “cosmetic enhancement". She continued her earlier habit of tossing bits of advice my way.

On Foundation: “It’s important to use a strong foundation to cover ruddy skin, like yours.”

On Eyeshadow: “It’s important that both eyes look even. You have applied your eyeshadow in a way that emphasizes the two different eye shapes.”

On lipstick: “Pale lips will undo any look. Here, this is a great shade for older women.”

I slouched in my chair alongside one of the very timid, insecure 12 year olds, and glanced down at thighs based on the Theory of Great Expansion. My mind raced across the past few months in a vain attempt to feel even the smallest degree of attractive. The people featured in this blog transformed from fun flirtations to terrified villagers paying tribute to the fairy tale ogre beneath the bridge. I saw them pressing free car washes, wolf whistles, and offers for sexual favors on a misshapen, bumpy, duck-footed, funky-eyed freak with massive skin blemishes. In their eyes was the same plea, “Spare my firstborn, hideous creature!”

I slumped home after the ‘event’ with only one possible solution. I picked up the cell phone and dialed Baby Brother. After 2 minutes of obligatory, “How are you? Fine. How is college? Fine,” I burst into tears and began to repeat the word ‘fat’ ad nauseum.

Baby Brother is the best guy in the whole world. He listened until my broken sobs subsided and then told me that even if I do scare small children, he will love me. That means something coming from such an amazing person. I dried myself up, trying to ignore that I had added puffy eyes and snotty nose to my list of imperfections.

(Oh, hell. As if it could get worse. The horrible photo is ON DISPLAY in the office. God, if you are listening, please let the photo and its negative spontaneously combust.)