1. My husband and I are going out for the evening. My husband is attired in faultless black-tie, looking cool, calm, and collected as he sits in front of the computer, plays Sudoko, and drinks tequila on the rocks with a wedge of lime. It's a little over an hour from departure time. Time to get ready.
2. I get into my killer new underwear; first, the new bra. Yank, yank, tug, yank.
3. Now the new Spanx "foundation garment" i.e., GIRDLE. It's 18 percent spandex. Just trying to pull the damned thing over my hips makes me break into a sweat.
4. For the past hour, I've been walking around with foam rubber toe-separators between my toes. I decide my pedicure is sufficiently dry. Time to pull on a pair of pantyhose.
5. OK. Hose on. My body, from the shoulders down, now completely mummified in nylon and spandex. Meanwhile my husband is enjoying his Sudoku. And tequila.
6. It's time to roll my hair up on the hot rollers.
7. Did I mention that today's high was 94 degrees?
8. OK, the hair is up in the rollers. (For a neat, smooth, frizz-free look, wrap each section of hair in tissue paper before you roll it. This is my only beauty secret. You're welcome.)
9. Rollers-cum-tissue paper are in place. Wow, hot rollers are hot. And they must stay in place until they are completely cool. Right. Time to spackle my slightly sweaty face.
10. OK, hair still in rollers, full face of make-up now in place. Stick foundation, stick blush, powder, powder blush, lip pencil under the lipstick, gloss, two coats of mascara--the works. I look like a recently embalmed Bride of Frankenstein. My husband is still playing on-line Sudoko.
11. I climb into my dress, and get my husband to zip it up. I discover, to my horror, that the new bra shows.
12. I pin the cute little bolero jacket closed with a brooch, that miraculously, coordinates beautifully with my outfit. However, it isn't enough to tamp down my bra, which keeps popping up like a damned jack-in-the-box, so I decide to augment the pinnification with safety pins. I rummage around in various trinket boxes for safety pins, and find only two, which I use to pin my bra inside my dress. ("Down, boys!")
13. Now it's time to fiddle around with contact lenses. Insert; blink; tear; insert; blink; tear.
14. And of course, there is the blinking/tearing damage to my makeup, which I must now repair.
15. Add jewelry. Apply fragrance.
16. Shoes on. Whoops, the slingbacks are too big and they keep slipping off my feet.
17. Unroll hair. Finger comb. Apply several quarts of hairspray. Stuff lipstick, compact, comb, handkerchief, and cell phone into tiny, useless evening bag. Pry husband away from Sudoko and tequila. Leave for party.
I ask you. Is this sort of thing supposed to be fun? Why do the guys have it so easy? This is so not fair.
p.s. I'm recovering today. I need my rest, people! But check out my latest entry over on Mamarazzi.
p.p.s. That Stud Muffin I Married says my Mamarazzi entry is really mean. UPDATE: Actually, he said it sounded really mean, but when he read it, he thought it was really funny. But I'll let you be the judge of that.
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