Being a Girl is Hard

All I want is boots that are both warm AND cute. I want panties that don’t show OR ride up. I want hair that looks beautiful but doesn’t suffocate me. I want a bra that does what bra should do without making me feel like I’m in a straight jacket.

I don’t get to dress up very often. I bought this dress from an Australian designer last year with Big Plans about wearing it out on “date night” but after three rescheduled “date nights,” four multitasking outings to the Big City that did quadruple-duty as date/Costco/Home Depot/AllTheThings days that were not cute-dress appropriate, and a handful of skipped/postponed/rainchecked holidays like anniversaries and Valentine’s Day that coincided with Very Important Work Things and/or a Bad Attitude, the dress has remained in its pristine, $359 Price tag still attached, condition. Until today.

Because what could be a better opportunity than a trip to the Big City for a superstar concert? In sub-freezing temperatures. With a few stops for business errands on the way. And a home inspection. And a few groceries. And a meeting or two. And waiting in the car for awhile.

It’s given me ample opportunity to realize that however adorable, this dress is hella short. Also these were the absolute wrong panties to wear with a too-short dress, even though they do match the cute bra that is riding up my back. And falling down my shoulders. And pinching me in places other than where I liked to be pinched, which happens to be nowhere in sub-freezing weather.

I’m envious that Someone Else rolled straight from work in comfortable AND stylish jeans, with a laid back AND sexy flannel shirt and boots that are both warm AND hip, and looks just as good as me without any bra pinches, hair stranglehold or numb toes. It’s just not fair.

I know in a cocktail or two I’ll feel great and won’t care so much if Pamela down the bar from me can see my ill-fitting underwear under my too short skirt on a bar stool. If she complains, I’ll flash her a glimpse of my matching bra with complimentary boob bruises so she can at least appreciate the effort.

Tell me I’m not alone. Other girls look pretty. They look all cute and done up and ALSO comfortable. How am I doing it wrong? And how can ALL OF THE MAKEUP I put on three hours ago be gone already??? I used Aquanet on my face forgodssake. I curled my hair TWICE, and used Aquanet on it too, but you could never tell.

He’s so smug in his sexy pearl snap flannel, while my goose bumps are accelerating leg hair growth to Mach 3 speed. My mother would suggest tights. Which I would scoff at, but be warmer in. But then all night, struggling to hoist the perpetually sagging crotch line back to its assigned position… lord help me.

Just tell me I’m not alone in the struggle. Tell me it’s worth the fight and Mr. hasn’t-even-gotten-a-haircut-in-six-months’ effortless, sexy vibe is at least contagious. Or just buy me another low calorie gin and soda and join me in my misery.

Here’s to us, ladies. The quietly enduring champions of beauty, bearing our pain in (mostly) silence and smiling for the selfie that had better damn not make us look fat, for the love of peter.