If you are related to me, you probably don't want to read any further as you may find what follows to be a poor reflection on the family. And if you are not related to me, I should first add the disclaimer that my relations should not be held responsible for whatever uncouth, uncivilized or ill behavior which may be represented in my posts. Afterall, it's not their fault I turned out this way.
My dad really did have the best of intentions. After my mother died when we were quite young, he was saddled with the task of raising three young daughters by himself. He had high hopes of us all. Dad wanted his daughters to be well-mannered, cultured, refined and otherwise civilized in all areas. He exposed us to any manner of the arts and culture. He provided us with fine mentors to teach us by the best example. We were required to take piano lessons, provided with library cards, hauled to every museum, symphony, ballet, theatre, opera and art gallery within 150 miles of our home. A college education was an expectation, not an option.
When other girls we allowed to go bare legged with their Sunday dresses, we were required to wear panty hose or tights. Dad always expected us to wear the appropriate undergarments for the occasion, which meant slips and camisoles were not an option, even in the 100 degree South Texas heat and humidity.
When we reached the age that young ladies like to try on make up, Dad did not want us going around looking like hookers as many of our peers might have done. He took us to the Merle Norman Cosmetics store and the Clinique counter at a high end department store to have someone with real expertise in these matters show us how to correctly apply our make up and tell us which colors and shades were most flattering. Then he shelled at atleast $100 for the complete line of skin care and make up. For weeks I had to read the manual that came with the set up to know which order to use the cleanser, toner, lotion, foundation, blush, eye shadow and mascara, etc.
You would think all of this effort towards my civilization and refinement could have been nothing but a banner success. And you would be wrong. I was having none of it. Well, atleast after I was able to get out of the house and a safe distance from home. I was indeed taught better. It just didn't stick.
To the horror of those around me, I am now known to regularly leave the house without make up or hair combed. On occasion, I have traveled to the grocery store or other public places in broad daylight in my pajamas (ie, bleach stained sweats) with no shame. My nail polish generally comes in hues such as blue, orange, purple or green and is often chipped. Much to the horror of certain siblings, I have a penchant for the odd yard sale or thrift store and proudly wear the ensembles I find there.
Compared to the guests on generally any episode of Jerry Springer, I am seemingly well behaved. However, compared to the former Junior League members in the family, my actions might resemble behaviors typically on display at the local WalMart.
And as for my general career path or pretty much any other adult rites of passage...Well, I'll get to that part later.
You have been warned. I take no responsibility for any dismay I may cause you from this point forward. Afterall...Admit it. I make your life look pretty good. If you don't believe me, stick around.
Loving it!
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