Growing up in Las Vegas, surrounded by exaggerated showgirl images of womanly perfection, a girl gets a harsh sense of her own physical imperfections.
Growing up anywhere in America, bombarded by plastic surgery-altered images of celebrities, a woman gets a clear image of a possible path to physical perfection or at least improvement.
In my youth, I scoffed at the idea of surgical alternations, but now that I’m older, I’m not so sure. Like many a middle-aged woman, I stare in the mirror and catalog a growing litany of facial flaws – jowls, bags under the eyes, thinning lips. Need I say more? And so, I wonder if maybe, just maybe, I should rethink that long-held anti-plastic surgery stance.
Well, amazingly I just found a non-surgical solution to my sagging features and equally sagging self-image – one that restores my former youthful glow and good-(ish) enough looks. And best of all, it didn’t involve a trip to the plastic surgeon’s office.
https://muddling.me/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/dried-flowers-1149191_640.jpg425640Karenhttps://muddling.me/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/logo.svgKaren2017-05-05 09:05:022019-01-10 13:52:25Are You Still Sexually Active?
“What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet;”
So argued sweet, naïve Juliet about her love Romeo’s last name. Well, as we all know, the tale of Romeo and Juliet did not end well. While many lessons can be learned from this story of teen love gone tragically awry, for me, the lesson is that there is a lot at stake when it comes to your name. And sadly I’ve faced innumerable struggles with mine. Well, not innumerable. I can count them. In fact, to quote Elizabeth Barret Browning, “Let me count the ways.”
"Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet, Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat." Rudyard Kipling
I’m a city girl, as in The City, The Big Apple, New York City. He’s a western, small-town-kind-of-guy. I’m a Gucci-kind-of-girl. He’s always been a cowboy- boot-wearing-guy. And I don’t mean the fancy, handcrafted, custom-made, snakeskin, gold-and-silver encrusted Tony Lama or Lucchese kind of cowboy boots. I mean unadorned, work boots. “Shit-kickers,” as my father so eloquently – and accurately – described them.
https://muddling.me/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/cowboy-boots-975103_1280-e1491858782596.jpg8321276Karenhttps://muddling.me/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/logo.svgKaren2017-05-05 09:00:522018-10-05 11:29:18These Boots are no Longer Made for Walking
I bought Elle magazine this week. I could not resist its siren call. It was the September/Fall back-to-school issue, the fat issue. You know, the issue loaded with more ads and ostensibly more features than usual, touting the latest in Fall fashions and back-to-school styles. It is, in fact, the only time it is acceptable to use the words “fat” and “fashion magazine” in the same sentence, no less the same issue.
I didn’t really look at the cover. I was transported by the magazine’s girth and recollections of decades ago Fall issues when I really cared about hemlines and waistlines and whether bangs were in or out, hot or not, and in a general sense, what was what and all the latest whatnots.