Moment of Weakness
I have 4 younger sisters.
One of them is nine. I'm not talking about her . . . not yet
The three others are 22, 20, and 18.
They are beautiful girls. They have long, lustrous hair. They wear stylish clothes and pretty jewelry. They own a belt, a hair ornament and a pair of shoes for every outfit. Their makeup is always done, they paint their nails, they smell good. Their hair is highlighted, their teeth whitened and every unwanted hair waxed away. They are slim and tanned and move with grace.
I love them.
And, in moments of tired and wistful weakness, I envy them.
Yes, even when I know all the reasons why I needn't.
I can't help it.
I am still a girl too.
And some days, when my hair isn't washed and my clothes are rumpled,
when my face hasn't seen makeup for days, or even weeks,
when I haven't had my hair cut in nearly 6 months,
when I'm not even sure if I put deodorant on,
when I literally can't remember the last time my nails got painted or I bought a pair of new earrings,
when I can't wear a necklace-- half because I don't own one worth wearing and half because it would cause a tantrum of envy in my child,
when my legs aren't shaved and my stretch marks are especially glaring,
. . . on these days, tired tears of weak longing come unbidden and I feel, guiltily, the longing to be in shoes other than my own.
And I know, I know, why I would never trade places with one of my sisters for the world.
But still, the pull is strong and, shamefaced, I yield and wonder why I just can't have both worlds at once?
One of them is nine. I'm not talking about her . . . not yet
The three others are 22, 20, and 18.
They are beautiful girls. They have long, lustrous hair. They wear stylish clothes and pretty jewelry. They own a belt, a hair ornament and a pair of shoes for every outfit. Their makeup is always done, they paint their nails, they smell good. Their hair is highlighted, their teeth whitened and every unwanted hair waxed away. They are slim and tanned and move with grace.
I love them.
And, in moments of tired and wistful weakness, I envy them.
Yes, even when I know all the reasons why I needn't.
I can't help it.
I am still a girl too.
And some days, when my hair isn't washed and my clothes are rumpled,
when my face hasn't seen makeup for days, or even weeks,
when I haven't had my hair cut in nearly 6 months,
when I'm not even sure if I put deodorant on,
when I literally can't remember the last time my nails got painted or I bought a pair of new earrings,
when I can't wear a necklace-- half because I don't own one worth wearing and half because it would cause a tantrum of envy in my child,
when my legs aren't shaved and my stretch marks are especially glaring,
. . . on these days, tired tears of weak longing come unbidden and I feel, guiltily, the longing to be in shoes other than my own.
And I know, I know, why I would never trade places with one of my sisters for the world.
But still, the pull is strong and, shamefaced, I yield and wonder why I just can't have both worlds at once?
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