I have made no secret that I am vain. I may not be a size 10 but that is no excuse for me to not keep myself solidly in the high maintenance category. I am not insulted. In fact- if you were to call me high maintenance I would say thank you for noticing. It's work people. Hard expensive work. It takes time and a budgetary ballet to pull it all off. So today, Kittens, someone in bad too small stretch pants and sporting a mop of wiry greasy gray hair dared provoke me and got to see the claws (well manicured-of course). Oh yes, I believe somewhere in this office area is a quivering Stretchapotumous sniffling about and licking her wounds.
My morning has been challenging to say the least. I slept very little last night. This is a repeat of the last month. No sleep. So I awoke late and had to jump to it in a spectacular way. Somewhere in the shit storm of ironing, makeup, hair and wrestling my work badge from my weekend purse- I managed to look pretty cute today. Great hair day. Epic! Short black skirt, leapord print sweater and cute black kitten heels. And as a bonus- compulsive lying scale finally told the truth and said I lost 2 pounds! Lucky bastard- I was so prepared to shoot it if it dared to tell me the same number it did last week. Well played, Lying Bastard Scale, well played!
Onto the office. I received compliments today..."You're looking great, Cat", "Are you losing weight?", "Your hair looks great"...yeah for me! A parade of sunshine and epic high fives. Oh yes, who's strutting on her very own personal cat walk humming Paralyzer this morning? This girl is! Oh what a glorious fucking Monday of all days! Are you people high? Know what- I don't care if you are- just follow me around today and call me fabulous and stuff. I can handle it, no really! Honey Badger doesn't give a care today- because I am fantabulous!
Back to our dear friend, Stretchapotumous. So there I am in the kitchen getting my 4th cup of coffee and chatting with four other office people and Stretchapotumous . Someone commented on my tan- and how it looks really nice. Oh thank you Someone, thank you for noticing. And then Stretchapotumous, "Is that a REAL tan?". Oh dear God- she said that out loud and by the look of Someone and the other people- it registered to my face faster than jalapenos can make a white man crap his pants. "Nope- it's a spray tan. I love it. Love. It. All of the fun and none of the cancer". Laugh out louds all around! You see, I am not embarrassed that my tan is sprayed on- because I totally love the color and that I will not look like old shoe leather when I am 40. Oh snap- did I just finally mention something positive about turning 40? Hallelujah and yeah fucking me!! A break through!! And then Stretchapotumous says with a hint of vinegar and mostly piss, "Well, it must be nice to be so pampered". And so I count 1, 2, 3... fuck it. You know what Stretchapotumous - it is fucking nice and here's why you mean little troll.
I like being pretty.I am not what I would call a stunner and I may be fat but I am pretty. You can call me conceited if you like but I wear that as a badge, too , Ass Hat! A fucking badge of honor. Know why? Because looking like a confident woman is awesome. BEING a hot confident woman is epic. And that means I have to pamper myself to bridge the gap between "eh" and pretty. Yeah- it's my job as a member of Team Lady Bits to take care of me and make sure I am pampered. That makes me a better, nicer, more sparkly version of me.
I get my hair done every 6 weeks.
Cut. Color. Glaze. Repeat.
My nails and toes-every other week.
Spray tan -every 4 days.
Teeth cleaning and whitening- every 6 months.
Home facial-every night.
Exfoliate skin- every shower.
Super good exfoliating /nourishing/wrinkle killing face cream- every morning & night.
Oh- and I always wear fantastic fucking shoes.
There is zero excuse for looking drab, dowdy, road hard and put up wet. I make serious financial sacrifices to be the star of my cat walk- to the tune of roughly $400 a month. To top that off- now I make sacrifices by choosing a banana instead of a brownie. Tea instead of Coke. Salad instead of a perfectly grilled slice of steak. Salad! But you, my dear hater, do not have to spend that much. Maybe if you would haul your ass off of the couch and graze down to Walgreen's- you could visit the Cover Girl & Clairol counter instead of the Ho-Ho & Poor Me aisle and be epic also. If you are not inclined to do so- don't make snarky remarks and imply you are some flavor of neglected to this bitch because I will be your new best nightmare. I own the patent on Catty Bitch. Now, about those stretch pants....