A Pouf of Air

I feel like a fraud.

I peered into my bathroom mirror; a face I didn't recognize peered back at me. It was a beautiful face. Curly hair laid just right, with enough hairspray to fix it in place should a nor'easter blow, a warm smile, and round baby cheeks. While I no longer passed for a high-schooler, as my age was finally starting to creep across my eyelids, I definitely didn't look like I was in my late 30's. Mid-20's perhaps.

Right after work that day, I'd grabbed my keys and purse and hopped in the 7-seater with my friend to head down to Elie for a treat we allowed ourselves three or four times a year. She, a mother of 3 under the age of 2 with her husband in college, didn't have much money for luxuries. I had no patience and didn't relish the thought of going on my own. So when the twins' 2nd birthday party came up, we decided it was time to go get ourselves pampered.

The young assistant soon had my friend's colour painted on and she relaxed in the hair salon chair waiting for it to set. I, meanwhile, had just had my hair washed by the second assistant and was sitting in my own chair watching my face in the mirror. It was a face I didn't like to see.

My cheeks were too chubby and I had a double-chin. My eyelids looked saggy and puffy, my teeth were too small and when I smiled my gums showed. My hair was thinning and there was an obvious balding spot on the top right side that I tried to hide by combing my bangs over in that direction. My eyebrows were thick, though semi-shaped, and also thin in patches so I looked more like a mangy homeless cat than a well-groomed trendy woman. Mosquito bites from the last week's battle with several formidable foes were unevenly dotted around my cheeks and nose with a bonus one on my left eyelid.

I sighed inwardly and looked in the mirror as the young lady began to blow-dry my hair. At first she simply tousled it while waving the hairdryer about but soon she took round brushes and used them as curlers to begin putting a curl in my hair. When she'd finished, I thought it looked nice enough, but she had just begin to work her magic. Soon a small curling iron appeared and she painstakingly separated small sections of hair and wove each around the iron until the moisture evaporated and a perfectly formed curl slipped off the barrel.

After hairspray, cream to add shine, and meticulous arranging and rearranging of the curls so a perfect wave accented my smile and hid the balding spot as if it had never existed, I stared in the mirror silently. I had sat in the chair feeling ugly and watched myself transform into someone beautiful. I'd never felt so beautiful before in my life.

That evening, I received compliments from several of my friends who noticed the new me. Somewhat self-conscious, I tried to pretend I was my usual self but I knew I looked different. When I headed back to my room, I slipped off my black velvet heels and looked in the mirror again. Yes, the same beautiful woman was still there. Except I realized one thing.

The beautiful woman only felt beautiful on the outside.

I didn't grow up in a family where compliments were easily given. When we grew older, physical touch also abated, so hugs were for mostly when we were feeling sad or going on a trip. I envied Hispanic families who were always showing their love through touch. I wished my parents would tell me I was beautiful instead of warn me not to eat so much because I was putting on weight. The weight, of course, hid the sad little girl who not only wished for more warmth but was dealing with the TCK grief and loss that she had to carry all her life.

A beautiful thing is never perfect. ~Egyptian Proverb

Was it possible to be beautiful and not have a size 2 figure? Was it possible to be beautiful and have stretch marks on my knees, a round stomach, and uneven skin? Was it possible to be beautiful and not have straight hair, waxed arms, or Botoxed lips? Was beautiful not defined by what we saw but only enhanced by what made us feel good about ourselves?

I looked in the mirror again at the face I knew well. Tomorrow my hair would rearrange itself after a night of tossing and turning as I am not a light sleeper. I stared at eyes that hesitated to sparkle, afraid that acknowledging what I saw wouldn't change the way I felt. Yet a little smile began to appear as I continued staring until the smile crinkled the corners of my eyes. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and tonight I was beautiful.