a required taste for the pretentious as all get out





and you wonder why we're always late...
September 02, 2002, 9:15 am

Maybe if you thought that this was TMI, ignore this.

Getting ready for a date for me is akin to a sweeping motion picture epic; all that is missing is Charlton Heston parting the Red Sea.

Girls know what I'm talking about here; gentlemen, you have NO CLUE what we go through.

Take, for example, my afternoon yesterday. I was to have a delightful evening with a boy. Dinner, maybe a movie, "Sex and the City" big deal, right? Tell that to my Venus razor, the laundry detergent, and the hair dryer.

First, there's the size-up: I look at myself in the mirror. Generally, I looked much cuter/sexier the day before, so now I need to recreate my cute/sexiness. There's bags under my eyes. There's a pimple on my cheek. There's one errant hair on the cusp of my lip. There's a hell of a lot of work to be done.

But first I have to shower: a feat which exposes the very worst of the pre-date preparation rituals, shaving.

I am Greek. This does not bode well in our society that prizes hairlessness above all else for us womenfolk. If I were to let my legs and other various parts of my hair anatomy go untended, I'd be a veritable Sasquatch; I'd be Shakespeare's "black wires" run rampant. I fantasize about one day every woman in America dropping her razor in a Herculean effort to stop the senseless butchering of smooth skin. "Hair is sexy!" we'd all scream, and guys, being guys and wanting to get any, would have to agree.

I know what you're saying, "Jess, why don't you individually start the revolution and stop shaving?" I don't want to frighten away the gentlemen callers, quite simply. And I'd like to avoid my 9th graders making fun of me more than they already do.

Anyway, so I have to shave. Heaven knows guys appreciate a good shaving effort, but I know I'll miss a spot or two. And I know that whatever spot I miss, that's where my guy's hands will roam first. Laws of Physics. The most painful place to get a nick is NOT the bikini area; it is the armpit. YOW! Trust me on that. Fine, so the shaving is finished, as is the tweezing for ingrown hairs which tend to show up EVERYWHERE in the most uncomfortable places.

Now for the hair on top of my head: what to do? If I try to straighten it, it gets super frizzy; if I try to let it curl, parts become bone-straight. It never wants to cooperate.

Make-up: who's idea was this? If I get through two minutes without poking out my eye with my eyeliner, I consider the make-up application process a success.

Throw on the clothes, look in the mirror, and this is what I see: a version of me that is just trying too hard.

And you know what? He appreciates the effort that I put into the whole deal, but it's not really necessary. I'd look just as cute to him if I were naked, even more so. Which is why I got all dressed up in the first place...

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