So, I got my feelings hurt today, again.... After a long conversation with a friend about how a guy I work with told me I look like a 'lesbo,' I sent her the picture from my myspace page with my new haircut. I guess, as I've known her for 32 years, I expected a unified outcry of, "How dare he! You look fabulous!" I should have known better. Our relationship is deep, tangled and full of years of comparisons, separations and soul-baring analysis. In a nutshell, she knows how to wound to kill. She said, "Well, you just look a lot less... fancy." There, that was it. I look a lot less fancy. Ouch. So I pondered. I stewed. I fretted. I've come to realize that I don't mind the lesbian analogy, it's the lack of fanciness that I am mourning. I think life has taken a toll on me the past 5 years. My fancy patina is getting worn. I am no longer one of those shiny people that always looks perfect and smells even better. Life has changed. I am a middle aged, suburban house wife, that has grown a bit jaded and tired. Who cares if I wear cargo pants and a wife-beater every day? I started thinking of all of the parts of me that have changed recently. It's as if the joy, loss, and heartbreak of the past few years have tarnished me in some imperceptible (I thought) way.
Am I going to let that one comment define me? No, but as sensitive as I am, it will shadow me. I will remember the source and the complex layers of our relationship. And how in times of powerlessness we tend to peel back the layers to expose a bit of rawness and shake the salt. No, it's not about her, but a little bit of her does seep in. Not being fancy is the one thing that would cut me to the quick, and she knew it. Looking gay I'm okay with; being common I'm not.
Now, as I get ready for the day, I am full of self-doubt but am resolute. I am going to curl my eyelashes and put on a sundress. I am going to give my old fanciness my un-manicured finger and move on.
Fancy is what fancy does.