Pale is Pretty

“…I will not obsess about my flaws.” This is the mantra I asked readers to repeat after me in my last column. I don’t know about you, but I’m trying to work on some things, and be content with what God has given me.
After the column ran, I talked to my aunt in Parkville. She said she always worried about her mother, my beloved grandmother, being so vain. Grandma always worried about her hair, making sure it was rolled and set, and that it was just the right color if she was to be seen by absolutely anyone. She always had to have a purse and matching pumps before leaving the house, even if it was only to the store.
Now, after reading that story, my aunt said she didn’t worry so much about Grandma and her vanity (before she passed away), it indicated that she had no other worries and that she cared what she looked like and had a healthy self-image. She added, “Thanks for writing it.”
As for me, I could be using the weights we have set up in the basement, but I always conveniently forget. I wonder if Ms. Brinkley has these same memory problems. Does she have someone to remind her that it’s time to work out, or is she more disciplined than I am, getting up at 6 a.m. to work those muscles?
Currently, I have a fingernail problem. It’s not that chip in the polish or them being different lengths. Oh boy, here goes. The secret’s out. I was dying that pesky little bit of gray hair that shows up in my dark hair, the dye got into the glove, and now I have a stained nail. Hubby said, “Just let it go gray.” Easy for a blond to say.
I tried nail polish remover, soap and water, and even bleach, but it was too late. The next day at work, a friend told me that alcohol or Goop (hand cleaner) would have gotten it out. And I know that Goop gets everything out. I’ve used it to remove ink, chocolate, and tomato stains from clothing a million times. I have some on hand, under the kitchen sink. What was I thinking?
I tried polishing my rarely polished nails with a pale pink, even underneath the nail. It still showed through. Maybe I should try a dark color for the time being. Or maybe I should not worry about it and let it wear off.
I’ve not done a very good job about protecting my skin either. On the first day of our vacation at the beach near my mother-in-law’s home in Florida, I got sunburned. I used a little bit of sunscreen, but I thought that since last year, only my shoulders got burned at first, I would be fine.
I peeled for two weeks.
I returned to work the following week, thinking my burn had turned into a pretty nice tan. I’m sure it would’ve been better had I not been sore and avoiding the outdoors the rest of the trip.
People at work said, “You can’t tell you’ve been to Florida. Where’s your tan?” That’s what I get for worrying about having my dream tan.
Vanity.
I should be happy with the color I get going to auctions, walking around Worlds of Fun, and gardening. Maybe I should cut some trees down around my house so I can get sun while I work in the yard, thus killing the proverbial two birds with one stone—getting exercise AND a tan.
Seriously, most of us have feelings about getting a tan. Some people, like my 13-year-old daughter, think that having porcelain white skin is a curse. She tries to get a tan, but can only stand the sun for about two seconds at a time. She looks beautiful with her light skin and chocolate-drop-brown eyes. She doesn’t know just how lovely a porcelain doll is. She’ll probably be among the few people in this world with very healthy skin.
With all the vain attitudes being thrown at us from every direction, maybe someone should say it’s the “in thing” to be pale, and pale is pretty…and healthy.