Freshen Up

I wore red lipstick into the office today.

I'm sure you're thinking Meh, no big deal. It's just lipstick. What's the fuss?

Well, ReaderFriend, I assure you that it IS a big deal.

Here's why.

I woke up this morning in an okay-kind-of-mood. It was raining enough that I could hear it from bed (which is a sound that I absolutely adore). It wasn't overly warm in the bedroom, which would make me uncomfortable under the blankets, but it wasn't so cool that getting out of bed was a shocking experience that would leave me in full-body shiver mode. My shower was warm, my legs got shaved (I'm sorry if that's too much information, but this is a big deal too. I was starting to look like a chimp. There was so much hair on my legs that I was actually beginning to worry that my knuckles were approaching Minimum Acceptable Altitude and were going to commence dragging on the floor at any moment. It was a serious situation. Why I let it get so bad is a testament only to the stress and frustration of the last month of my existence. You should be *commending* me on having the emotional strength to shave today, because it certainly isn't going to happen again at least until the end of the week. So there. That's that. Get off my back.), and I felt reasonably certain that, at any moment, Boyfriend was going to announce that Surprise! They told me I didn't really need to go out of town all week! And there would be massive celebrations, and maybe even cake.

That was, I assure you, not the case.

In fact, it was quite the opposite.

After showers and scampering about getting ready for work, Boyfriend was almost positively going to be late for his week-out-of-town. So after he successfully departed and I waved goodbye from behind-the-door-where-he-couldn't-see-me-but-I was-all-but-certain-he-knew-I-was-standing-anyway, I turned and looked at the clock.

Kind of.

Actually... perhaps it would be more forthcoming to admit that I engaged in a staredown with the clock. It was taunting me.

Ten of seven, it ticked. Ten of seven. Ten of seven. Every second that ticked by reminded me that I had a full hour of time to myself... and wasn't entirely certain how to fill it.

Ten of seven. I could go back to bed, but I was already dressed. (On occasion, I will ship Boyfriend off to work and then curl up for another half-hour of less-blissful-than-before-but-still-better-than-being-awake slumber. But I try not to do this when I've already put more effort into my workday appearance than I would be able to recreate after I woke back up again.) No use rumpling the good duds, and it was just on the too-chilly side of the spectrum to consider stripping down for my nap. Option two, here we come.

Ten of seven. I could clean something, but again, this would jeopardize my cute cargos-and-turtleneck look I had so cleverly pulled together. All it takes is one accidental swath of dirty dish bubbles to ruin even the most versatile home-to-workplace wardrobe pieces. And all of my aprons were upstairs. No dice.

Ten of seven. I could get crafty. Maybe knit... Maybe embroider... But all of my patterns are on the computer, and I wasn't entirely keen on bringing the weekend to an end by firing up the laptop prematurely. I sit in front of the glowy-screen-of-death all day at work... no need to bring that into my "personal" life all willy-nilly.

Ten of... Wait. 

What's that? 

Over there?

It's my Fabulous Red Nail Polish.

(From just last night when I spent half an hour carefully painting my fingertips** a gorgeous shade of deep, sensuous red, and then two hours waiting for the stupid things to dry as I desperately tried to remember not to touch *anything*.)

Which made me think of the lipstick I had upstairs.

(If you give a mouse a cookie...)

The lipstick I never ever use, except when I'm going on stage and need to make sure that there's something on my face to make me "pop." Deep, sultry red as though I'd taken up a life of vampiring and hadn't learned to use a napkin yet in my new lifestyle.

Ten minutes later, it was five past seven (bear in mind that approximately five minutes passed as I was having my staredown with the clock, and then coming to my Startling Realization. I *can* tell time, I just wanted you to know.) and I was Made Up. I had on all my subtle makeup for work, right down to my very-professional-and-not-overpowering line of eyeliner...

And bright red lips.

(No, this is not typical. I typically go for the lip balm, understated look. I'm not a stand-out-er. So... This is the big deal.)

Which promptly led me to flounce around my home for the following half hour, singing at the top of my lungs...

IF YOU GOT IT, FLAUNT IT

SHTEP RIGHT UP AND STROOT YOUR SHTOOF...

Which is also what I was singing as I walked into the office this morning.

**Yes, fingertips. Not fingernails. It would have saved time - and probably paint - to just dip my fingers one by one into the paint pots. I looked less like a sexy Receptionatrix and more like someone had tried to chew off my fingers at the first knuckle. Oh yeah... I was a vision.