High Maintenance

Yep, no point in denying it any further: I am now a High Maintenance Woman.

I have really short hair, most of the time. It hasn't always been that way - for years, I wore it about shoulder-length, in a fairly nondescript bob with bangs. It was easy to maintain, especially if I trimmed my bangs myself - which I often did. When my gray became noticeable, I'd grab a box of whatever brown dye was on sale and take care of it. I've grown it long, down to about the middle of my back, and about 2 years ago, I cut it all off, almost boyishly short.

It requires some degree of maintenance now, my hair does. I see my stylist once every five weeks for trims, dye, and the occasional highlights. I've let it go for nearly 7 weeks now, and I feel unbearably shaggy and unkempt. It certainly wasn't intentional: my stylist was on vacation, and has just returned. Tomorrow, once shorn and freshly colored, I shall feel ever so much better about my appearance.

My hair is not the only evidence of my High Maintenance Status - my nails, both finger and toe, are now carefully shaped and lacquered. Every two weeks, I waste an hour at the nail salon while little Vietnamese ladies labor over my digits. I always feel outrageously spoiled and pampered. It's such an unnecessary expense and extremely vain, but I've gotten used to it. I like how it looks. And, thankfully, I can afford it. Believe me, if it was a choice between getting my nails done or feeding/clothing my daughter, well, I'd be slapping on some Sally Hansen myself. Besides, Miss Peanut likes getting her nails done, as well.

Every now and then, I indulge in a facial. It's relaxing, and I always leave with a glowing complexion. Plus, my aesthetician usually gives me a massage, too. I recently upped the Maintenance ante by going to an actual Massage Parlor (Massage Envy) and getting an actual massage. For 90 minutes, a very nice lady worked over my muscles. That was divine, especially given the state of my very sore legs and feet (I'd been dancing in some very pointy 4-inch pumps just a few days earlier). They offer a monthly plan. I'm considering it.

This seeming fixation I have with my appearance - because I can hear some of you thinking really loudly right now - is definitely not new, although it's definitely more pronounced than it has ever been. I used to dye my own hair, trim my own bangs, and, more rarely, paint my own nails. Now, though, I view my exterior as an extension of my interior, and accord it the care and consideration that I accord my health.

You see, now, I think more about myself than I did before. I think carefully about what I eat, what vitamins I take, and how much exercise I get. I'm much more conscious of my body than I ever was before I decided to let a very smart man slice me open and rearrange my insides. I think it's finally sunk in that this amalgamation of bones and flesh is just as important as the brain and heart that it houses. I think because I take care of it now, I take pains to ornament it to the same level.

So, something that's always come hard for me, acceptance of my body for what it is, has now happened. I'm far from perfect physically, but I'm happy enough with what I've got for it to count as acceptance. You be the judge: do I look happy?