Poems and Other Shit

Why I Take So Long To Get Ready - Recall Story

The boy I love asks me, "Why does it take you so long to get ready?"

I think of a valid reason, run the checklist through my mind.

I must shower, to be fresh and clean and feminine.

I must wash my brittle hair, strip it of the natural oils it tries to repair itself with. For my hair must be smooth and soft, and coated with artificial compounds.

I must drag the razor along every inch of my leg, remove the bristly pinpricks of hair until I am smooth. For to have down on my legs is flirting with masculinity.

I must remove the hair from my armpits too. And when they are dried, they will be sealed with artificial compounds that sting and irritate. For to sweat is a certain social sin.

And I must sit upon the shower floor, butterfly position, the water cascading over my back. I must guide the razor, over and over, using my fingers, straining my neck, until I have created the illusion of a childlike slash. For to have pubic hair is a certain repellent, and no man would want to see, or touch, or taste.

I must towel dry my hair, and blow dry it upside down to create the illusion of more voluminous hair. For flat, thin hair is unattractive and unbecoming. It must be sprayed with sea salt spray, that costs more than a trip to the ocean, and brushed, and teased, and finger combed, and sprayed with sea salt some more.

I must cleanse my face, and apply toner, and smooth over with moisturiser, stripping the natural oils and attempting to replace them. For pimples are unattractive and must be erased at the cost of several bottles of artificial products. Dry and irritated skin, but smooth, is a fair compromise.

I must apply foundation to hide away the lingering pigmentation of acne, for an uneven tone is undesirable. I must apply pressed power, because matte is in style, and a shiny face is better hidden with powder. When my skin is smooth and even at the aide of unnatural cover, I can show my face unashamed, for perfect skin is every girl's desire.

I must apply concealer and bronzer and eyebrow powder, eyeshadow and more eyeshadow, eyeliner and white eyeliner, and mascara stroke after mascara stroke, until I resemble the face I desire more, the one I saw in the magazine and on TV and behind the counter at the Mac store. For to be anything less is unlucky, and makeup was made to hide and create, to beautify the unlucky. Like me.

I must pick an outfit. I will adorn myself in lacy underwear that tickles my skin uncomfortably. I must rummage through my wardrobe for something relevant, something new, something that gives the illusion of being organised and classy, and radiates a sense of wealth. For wearing Kmart clothing is generic and tacky, and you can't be somebody in Girl Express jeans.

And when I finally feel ready, I must dowse myself in perfume until you are delirious with the scent of me. It must be something with taste, something sweet and pleasing. It is an investment, the lady at the shop said, and so I delved out $120, desperate to better myself at any chance.

And when I have laced my laces and run my fingers through my hair and powdered my face, it is too late for breakfast. So I must skip the meal. For eating is overrated and unnecessary, when you are trying to be attractive.

I think of all these things. I look into your blue eyes, unsure how to explain my motives in words, but forging ahead. "I'm a female. Society expects more than rolling out of bed and putting a clean shirt on every morning."

And you say, "Screw society"- all politeness, for you won't swear in front of a female. You smile like you mean it, genuine and heart-warming. "Do whatever you want. You don't have to change yourself for anybody. You're beautiful without it."

I know that I love you then, more than I have ever known it before.

But the boy I love, he picks another girl. In the wake of his abandonment I am devastated. I analyse her over and over, this other more attractive female. She is prettier than me, richer than me, skinner than me. She drives a new car and buys only Mac products.

She is everything that I have ever wanted to be, and everything that I am not.

"Why does it take you so long to get ready?" he had asked.

Because I want you to love me.