These women, they must know something I don’t know. These women with their talk of split ends yet perfect curls, these women with their 10 ways of toning your abs while painting your fingernails pearly pink. I hear them. They exchange tips and tricks on finding tall, successful, husband material men, and compliment each other on the lusciousness of their eyelashes. Their secret, I need it.
It’s no longer pure curiosity as to how their roots are never dark and their cheeks are never freckled. It’s not a small thing anymore. I need, N-E-E-D to know how they do it. So that I can build myself a perfect little life smelling of body scrub and incense candles.
For writing, I have a special program that fills my screen with a vanilla background and shuts down everything else. Emails-facebook-music-youtube-smileys-statuses-relationships-timelines-circles-likes-blogs-news-friends, they magically go away and for once, it’s quiet. The cursor blinks. I seldom write. Instead, I think the day over. The work, the fights, the things I should have said and the moments I wished I’d kept quiet. Laundry. Shopping. Some new bruise in a visible place, and no recollection of the pain. These women. They never have bruises. They never hurt.
It’s not quiet after all, my laptop cooling makes the most annoying noise. On a bad day it sounds like crumpled gift wrapping.
These women never have bags under their eyes. They read books about self confidence and the science of fashion, their skin is always soft and perfectly tanned. They drink cocktails with exotic names and eat whatever they want, yet look like they never eat anything. These women don’t need software programs to keep the world at a safe distance. They love the world. They like it. Poke it. Share it. They’ve evolved.