A woman of seven and twenty

A woman of seven and twenty

said Marianne, after pausing a moment, can never hope to feel or inspire affection again.”
~~Jane AustenSense and Sensibility

Far past 27. And though there remains a remnant of desire to be desired, the time for that passed long ago.  Right now I am trying to decide whether I will be more comfortable fading back and fading or continuing my Delia Deetz era

And by fading, I mean being blonde again. Which is hilarious, because I just bought more of my vibrant red and orange to top off in between my visits for Layla’s magic.delia deetz 2024, red haired and behatted

Yes, Libra, yes I change my mind frequently. Yes, sometimes I swing from one extreme to another.

I can’t decide to be bright red or more orange. Should I try for a natural ginger? Or just give up the chase for catching the right red for my ancient self. It may just be too much for this aging head of mine.

It does get old that the color always runs.  I someewhat fear looking very ridiculous. Or like I’m trying too hard to look young. I do look someewhat nonsensical and mostly it is fine, because I just look this way and always have. But something in me is shifting and I am getting the message in a way that I can most likely understand it. Silly as it is.

It’s bigger than hair color. How do women decide to age? Do you fight it with fillers and stitches?  Or maybe just unguents and potions that stave off the inevitable a bit longer.  Do you wander into loud floral prints or cover yourself discretely in faded beige and taupe? Do you grey or highlight or haul out the pink and Iris Apfel spectacles?  I thought I knew, but I really don’t.

I still recognize my face in the mirror and wonder if a little nip or tuck would change that. I don’t want that. As much as I love felines, I don’t want that strained and stretched look that so many surgeried older women get, feline in their changes, but not in the lovely way of my lifelong companions.

I do have too many creams, elixers, philters and tonics. I can excuse that, because my skin is dry and I still enjoy playing with makeup. And I can excuse it because I want to.

I admire the women of Advanced Style, they are as I always thought I would be. I still may be. Maybe. Maybe I want to blend back, grey like a rainy day, just because I think it might be easier and allow me to just ghost my way through the rest of my years.  Just do the things I  like to do. Paint things, take walks, pet cats, read, drink tea. I used to want so much to be noticed (and for my work, I still do) but now I just want to be.



Of course if the Orange guy is re-elected, the middle east goes more insane  or if Putin decides he’s fucking over it, then obviously hair burns up in a mushroom cloud.

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