I’ve become what I hate.
Which is a person who wakes up at 5:30 am and puts on makeup.
To go to the gym.
The whole thing feels especially artificial as I recently published a no makeup post where I boast about loving myself with or without cosmetic enhancement.
So why did I waste my time applying mascara only to sweat it off twenty minutes later?
Simple. I wanted to make friends.
I’ve been going to the Small Town YMCA each day to participate in an early morning group exercise class. As someone who works from home, I need a daily dose of face to face contact–even if it’s in the midst of sweating profusely while doing burpees and cursing under my breath. To me, the gym is a place to better my fitness and my social life.
Which leads me to the mascara.
There’s this group of girls at the gym that I want to be friends with. Not in a creepy way. More of an “I’m lonely and my dog can’t go shopping with me” kind of way.
The girls not only seem fun and interesting–they just happen to be my age.
And have a ton of cute workout clothes.
I have a ton of cute workout clothes.
I mean, it just makes sense that we would be “besties”.
I’ve been watching them after class (again, not in a creepy way) and noticed something they all have in common. They wear makeup to class. Like, full on makeup.
I suspect there also may be some sort of perfume involved.
Despite the fact that it’s still dark outside and we’re about to perspire enough to definitely require a shower after class.
If they wear makeup to class, and then I wear makeup to class, we’re destined to instantly bond. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if we plan a girl’s trip to Vegas within the next six months!
(Yes, this is how my brain works.)
And so, like the friendless sellout that I truly am, I set my alarm fifteen minutes early in order to go against everything I believe in and put my face on before hitting the gym.
This would have worked perfectly had I actually woken up when the alarm went off. Instead, I ended up dragging myself from the bed at my usual time, which meant after slapping on some mascara, coverup, and of course, my eyebrows, I was behind schedule.
I arrived three minutes late only to discover that all of the fifteen pound weights were already in use. I ended up having to settle for nine pounders, which meant my workout was disappointingly mediocre. The worst part? After the first ten minutes of rigorous activity, my face was beet red, aside from the few spots where I had applied my ghost white concealer. Basically, my face looked like a cross between Minne Mouse’s red polka dot dress and a Monet painting. (As in a Monet painting from the later years when Claude had pretty much lost his eyesight and things were extra splotchy.)
And no one even noticed the mascara.
I take that back…one person did. You’re not going to believe this, but the neighbor who helped me when I locked myself out yesterday happened to be next to me in class.
Welcome to life in a small town.
The good news is that we’ve cleared the air and he no longer thinks I’m a psycho. He even wants me to help him with a website he’s working on. Dare I say it, we might just be “buddies”.
The bad news is that I’m going to have to bust out the workout sombrero.
I’ll get these girls to like me if it kills me.
I mean, seriously. How could you not want to be amigos with this?
Psst! Have you entered the Chanel Nail Polish Giveaway yet? Hurry — you only have until Thursday!