Like most girls growing up, I briefly entertained dreams of being a model. No matter that I was neither a beauty queen nor photogenic, I wanted to be pretty and thin enough to grace the cover of teen magazines.
That long-forgotten fantasy came to mind recently when I was (sort-of) asked to be a model. A hair model. Apparently, if my hair is properly colored, highlighted, cut, blown, curled and extended, then it's perfect. What seemed like an extraordinary effort to me, was utterly normal to the bi-coastal hair stylist. My hair is the perfect candidate for perfection.
Unlike my legs. My gams once were recommended for modeling. They are the one body part I was raised to believe was ideal, albeit by my mother, from whom they are inherited. However, others have agreed. I proudly recall that in my younger years, these limbs occasionally stopped traffic. Unfortunately, my legs, like me, are a bit too short for modeling.
Fortunately, though, the legs are the last thing to go in middle age. And I love wearing shorts, despite the burden of hair removal . . . which ironically brings me back to my locks . . .
It would be cool to one day tell my grandchildren about my "modeling career" launched in middle age. I suspect I would enjoy being styled on a regular basis. Extra money (or reduced hair bills) wouldn't hurt. I just don't know whether those perfect legs could or should spend so much time in a chair.
No comments:
Post a Comment