Airbrushed vs. Toothbrushed

Brushing my hair and applying makeup were once thought to be practical steps to beautification before heading out of the house. 

  Not so much...anymore.

  Ever since the time, in the not-so-distant past, when not once...but TWICE...found that by leaning over the bathroom sink to apply a bit of color to my pasty white skin I was actually completing the task of becoming minty fresh as well.  That would be quite the multi-tasking feat IF it were happening in the dental region.  However, since it was happening midriff section...I was less than pleased. 

  Yes, I had managed to get a good-sized glob of toothpaste across the undershelf of my belly zone.  What the heck, I'm 44, mother to seven children,  compiler of countless hours of exercise with a side of clean eating.  I have absolutely no reason to put on airs and deny the "baby pooch."  God as my witness, I've tried to humble it's appearance.  It can't be that bad, because no facial, close-up mirrored reflection reveals it.  No, apparently it can't be seen until all make-up is applied, hair is curled, and I'm ready to walk out the door.  Only when time is running short and a step back is taken to reveal the finished product will it most likely reveal itself.  Of course, the fact that it is outlined in a thick, sticky, white, peppermint-scented tracing of my sink ledge might draw attention to it. 

  I quickly decided it best not to highlight the area by allowing my children's dental routine left-over's to remain on my purple bloused midsection.  I grabbed the nearest towel slung into the tub and quickly doused and rubbed before glancing in the mirror only to notice I still had mascara to apply.

 No big deal, no harm done I thought, UNTIL I leaned back from the mirror and observed, YET ANOTHER slab of breath freshening intrusion across my towel-blotted belly.  You have got to be kidding me!  I checked the time, which was already pressuring me, and lunged for the sopping towel once again to rid myself of all offensive white paste.  It worked!  However, left in it's place was the darkened shapes of not one...but TWO dark silhouettes coming together to form a genuine likeness to the finger lakes region.  I probably could have explained one sodden patch...but this new addition called for drastic measures. 

  I ran for my hair dryer, searching high and low, until locating it in the most obvious of hiding places- right next to my wood-burning fire place.  Memories of my 15 year-old trouble-shooting, ingenious son attempting to achieve a hotter and higher flame during the previous night's cold-snap enlightened me as to the why of it's location.  No time to reminisce and ponder on his brilliance...nope...only time to recognize the familiar ashy scent that had flooded the house the night before causing windows to be opened a crack.  If I weren't scrambling for time I might have appreciated the scientific teachable moment which revealed air circulating into a suction driven motor will carry other particles along with it depositing a certain scent as air is dispersed...right into the fibers of my swampy, purple blouse in five seconds flat.

 I give up.  Why try and hide the fact that my life is not picture perfect, nor am I.  Perhaps this is a good thing...if you don't require fragrance free and have an appreciation for the finer perfumes not found in the most exclusive boutiques.  It seems I have created a most enchanting, totally original, unique aroma boasting an outdoorsy bouquet of mint, laced with hints of soap and undercurrents of filtered woodsmoke.  Ooh la la.

Dinner Party

 

  Question for you:  Do you find anything unusual about a frozen, lifeless waterfowl being shown around the table during a dinner party? 

  Clarification:  It WAS formally dressed for the occasion in a swanky, white, plastic garbage bag with just it's head exposed...well mostly, there was that beautiful colored wing feather that deserved to see light.

  I ask because I was a participant at said dinner party.  Ok, fine- I hosted said dinner party and was participating in the oohing and aahing while my hunter son walked seat to seat, proudly displaying this chilled, beautiful bird.  Forks paused midair while guests viewed tinted hues of greens and blues.

  It wasn't until my eyes met my mother's, amused and twinkling under raised eyebrows, that it occurred to me... perhaps this is not the norm around dinner tables across our great country.

 My desensitization began thirteen years ago while checking the pockets of my young son's jeans before loading the washer.  I was horrified and completely disgusted upon withdrawing a tangle of shriveled, dry worms.  You can thank me for sparing you the blog I envisioned about two years ago titled, "Fish guts on my front door."  And I won't bore you with details of the frog leg I stepped over while trying to break into my own back door to retrieve the keys locked inside. 

  I will tease you with tantalizing hints of future posts detailing how glorious it will be to have yet another set of antlers that are currently being... readied...for display from the newest hunter to hit the trails.  But you probably know ALL about that...because doesn't EVERYONE have a deer head buried in their yard with just the antlers sticking out...covered in tinfoil...letting nature do the dirty work?