I’ve always considered myself to have pretty high self esteem. Of course there are those “bad hair days”, and those “fugly days” and the worse of the lot, those “hippo days”. Fortunately, those days are far and few between.
However, why isn’t it a surprise that just when you’re feeling on top of the world something happens to kick you back to one of the aforementioned statuses?
That “something” would happen to be finding yourself in line sandwiched between Ms. Vogue and Ms. Elle. Flowing tresses completely absent of split ends, perfectly manicured and pedicured feet, makeup fit for any Hollywood star and legs that don’t stop.
Any shred of self-esteem you may have had before you got in line has shamefully exited the building. The only thing you’re left with is a very severe inner critic who seems hell bent on reminding you that somewhere in a village an oompa loompa has gone missing.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the cashier’s glasses and you see flyaways, frizz and is that a feather?
You look down at your fingernails and wonder where they have gone.
Sadly, you’re not brave enough to look down at your feet because you can’t even remember the last time a pumice stone came within a ten-mile radius.
And the makeup? Does pinching your cheeks for a minute and biting your lips before you came into the store count?
You pay for your items and do the walk of shame to the car.
As you sit at the driver’s seat, you wonder if there is a pygmy village somewhere in Central Africa that would welcome you with open arms.
In the meantime, Ms. Vogue and Ms. Elle are making their way to the parking lot. You glance at them in their perfect outfits, with their perfect hair, drinking their perfect Skinny Vanilla Lattes and that’s when you see it.
You quickly put your keys in your ignition, glance at your rear view mirror to make sure it’s clear, put your car in reverse and wait. They’re almost where you want them.
You put your car in drive as they get closer. Just a few more steps.
You take your foot off the brake and head for it.
It’s perfect and it’s waiting. Waiting, just waiting. The minute they walk next to it, you floor it.
Dirty water spurts everywhere. Screams are heard. Bags are dropped. Cursing ensues.
As you drive off, you once again look in the mirror and witness the macabre scene.
Ms. Elle and Ms. Vogue giving you the finger as they run after your vehicle.
No more flowing locks of hair. No more perfect makeup. No more gorgeous outfits.
Just two crazed looking women running behind your car drenched in muddy water.
Because while Mother Nature doesn’t always give us looks to die for, now and then she bequeaths us with the perfect puddle.