I Kinda Like My Dust

So, folks, I got to thinking again this week. When I think too much, if any of you have noticed, I tend to swing from one extreme to the other:  cynical or wacky.

Well, I, like most people, care how I look. I want to be beautiful. I don’t want to be too skinny or gain too much weight. If my forehead or face is greasy, I care enough to blot it and not look like I splashed the grease off of fried chicken on it and then rubbed it in like some kind of facial routine. If I have a ‘bat in the cave,’ I care enough to want a friend or the person staring right at me to give me a sign. If I have food stuck in my teeth and give out a hearty laugh, rather than staring at me and squinting to figure out what I ate, I’d like you to let me know. If the extra garlic I put in my pasta sauce is wafting from my mouth and I decline a stick of gum or a mint, pull me aside and let me know, not quite like this, but you know.

Let’s say my four-week-old Bohemian hairstyle is falling apart in the back and I look a hot mess. Let’s say that despite it, I continue to strut my stuff like I look good. Of course, being that I have no eyes behind my head, I don’t realize that weeds are taking over back there. Well, let me strut (unless it’s really that bad), then pull me over and tell me know how the back of my head looks like a nest with eggs waiting to hatch.

I am a lot of things, but I don’t mind being alerted about my flaws. I have great friends from college who take the time, often, to put me in my place by pointing out those things that help keep me humble. We often go back and forth at each other, but it helps us laugh at ourselves, so that when someone says something to me just hating, it really doesn’t faze me.

Over the last week, a friend and I have been discussing about how our bodies are just a shell. We don’t leave with them. They house the being that makes up who we are, but at the end of the day, all of it fades and wastes away. That’s pretty sad and kind of depressing that the faces we spend hundreds of dollars purchasing beauty products for are only temporary. The bodies we get implants for are not here forever.

Hmmm…the thing is… I didn’t use to wear make-up, but my husband says that small, colored solid stick I use on my lips make my lips even more beautiful than they already are. We both like my eyes and love the look of the powder I apply to my eyelids to accentuate them. I’m not into rosy tint cheekbone stuff, but I’m not mad at the ladies who fancy it. Bi-weekly trips to get a manicure or pedicure? I would if I could.

In all seriousness though, what happens to our bodies when we’re gone? It all decomposes and returns to dust, right? In the meantime, is it okay to take care of it and adorn it? Is it okay for me to like getting pedicures and occasional manicures? Is it cool that I like my sundresses in the Summer and a good pair of black boots in the winter? I supposed it’s all good unless you become a slave to it, right? In the meantime, I have a confession... I kinda like my dust. That doesn’t mean I won’t respect the body the Lord has given me. I will simply enjoy it while I can and do my best not to make it a stumbling block for anyone. After all, what the good Lord gave, I don’t have to let just sag and drag, right? Can someone please hand me some petroleum jelly? I hear it keeps the skin tight.