It takes me one hour to get ready for my day. That is, it generally takes me one hour, in a pinch, I can do thirty minutes. But that one hour does include, showering, hair washing, hair drying, dressing, discovering stain on shirt, changing shirt, finding new pants to go with new shirt, finding new socks to go with new pants because old socks no longer match new outfit, mending hole in new socks because they are the only socks of that color left until wash day, putting on make-up, pulling up hair, fixing hair that was messily pulled up, feeding cat, cleaning up cat sick from too hungry cat eating too fast, washing hands, making breakfast, preparing lunch and drinks for the day (and by drinks I mean that I take my own tea to work, not that I must have cocktails prepared at all times, although that is not really a bad idea), packing my bag, putting on my shoes, rubbing the cat’s tummy until she bites, opening the curtains and windows so cat can get some sun, explaining to husband what needs to be done, or won’t be done or what is for dinner, running back to kitchen to pull something out of freezer to defrost for dinner OR throwing something previously defrosted into crockpot for dinner, getting down to car, packing car, getting into car, cleaning up coffee spilled while getting into car, securing seatbelt, finding previously prepared breakfast in myriad of bags, starting car, searching for radio station actually playing music, finding sunglasses, and finally getting out of parking space. An hour seems like a reasonable amount of time for that. And from day to day it changes, sometimes there are packages to be addressed, or notes to write, or cats to be dragged from underneath beds for vet appointments or…or…hey, there’s always something. But in that one hour I usually think, hey, I am doing ok. I am showered, I am dressed, I am made up and coiffed and prepared for the day. My makeup looks good, my hair is tidy, now that I have changed my clothes I am no longer stained or rumpled or inappropriately dressed for the weather. I am doing just fine.
I got in the car the other day and caught a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror and I thought, “Oh, hey, I look nice. My skin is bright and rosy, my hair is shiny and clean and I have even managed to retain some lipgloss after a glass of soymilk and some goodbye kisses. Look at me.”
I arrived at work one hour later, walked into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Who knew so much could happen in an hour in the car?
I apparently get about ten minutes a day of clean, tidy and nicely appointed. If you miss them, you just get me in all my me-ness. It occurs to me that some people, family and friends alike have never seen me within the “good” window, only the “me” window. They will never know that my eyeshadow was perfectly applied and that my eyeliner perfectly complemented my eyes. They will never know that my sweater was once unwrinkled, unstained and un-untidy, that my shoes weren’t always this dusty or that my lipstick was once not smeared. And when I get home and I tidy up again to go out…it’s never quite the same is it? That mascara that has left raccoon rings around my eyes isn’t going to budge and the hair will not bounce like freshly washed hair.
I advise getting here early otherwise you just get me.