The Beauty Process

Today, Pam had us do a writing exercise with only one instruction: tell a story through a list. Well, my list kind of, sort of morphed into a poem. So here you go, my list.

The Beauty Process

Date night.

7pm

Let the process begin!

Wash the body

Shave the legs

Curl the hair

Paint the face.

7:50.

Right leg in, left leg in

Squeeze on the pants

Then search the closet.

Red blouse with buttons

Or the deep blue V-neck?

Put on the red, take off the pants

A skirt for easy access makes more sense.

Stand in front of the mirror

Hand on hip

Purse the lips

No. Try again.

Take off the red.

Put on the blue and look once more,

Wrong again.

Shirt and skirt equals too much skin.

“You idiot, its winter!” my legs cry, “Take it off!”

Right leg in, left leg in

Put on the pants once more.

8:05.

Consider the date: Nighttime. Starbucks. December.

Can’t wear heels, can’t wear sandals.

Flats? Vans? Or boots?

Boots.

Uggs or suede?

Consider the weather:

Sludge.

Uggs.

Right foot in, left foot in.

Accessories.

Studs or chandeliers?

Jeweled bracelets or braided hemp?

From the rainbow of scarves, which one to pick?

Purple.

Gold.

Black and white.

“You fool!” I yell.

“Fuck you,” my closet spits.

Fine then. Purple.

Back to the mirror.

Hat? No hat? Hat? No hat?

I put it on, I take it off. Hat? No hat?

Hat.

8:20.

I sprits perfume.

Wrist, neck, then in front of me and step through the citrus cloud.

I’m early.

Suppress butterflies with a cig,

Prevent babies with a pill,

Kill time with a song.

Pace my room

Smell my breath

Check my mirror

Smooth my hair.

8:30.

Time to leave.

Arrive fashionably late

Receive a hug, a kiss, a gaze, a compliment.

“Oh this?” I ask, “Don’t mention it, I just threw it on.”

“Lies,” my outfit hisses.