Girl, I Gotta Watch My Back, Cause I'm Not Just Anybody

Tonight's post's title comes to you courtesy of Young Money's song entitled, "BedRock". Haven't heard it? Well, you're missing out on some...poetic lyrics. "Call me Mr. Flintstone. I can make your bed rock." Sometimes I'm jealous of how clever these folks are.

I've always been what some might call "high maintenance". I won't deny this, but I would like to explain that only my grooming is high maintenance. I don't need anyone to take care of me and cater to any ridiculous requests (except for closing the lid on the toilet and putting the Diet Coke in the very back of the fridge and keeping my closet organized by color and sleeve length). But yes, my grooming rituals are somewhat..."involved". Sadly, however, I have realized that at some point, and I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but at some point, I have gotten a little lax in my rituals.

I will spare you the details of the obsessive-compulsive manner in which I shower, and how many pumps of lotion get applied to each limb, and the specific method I use to wrap my towel around me. I will tell you however, that it's always been pretty hard work to be Hannah and to get ready to go places. Apparently, I'm getting wiser as I get older. (Read "lazy and tired"). Instead of shaving twice a day, I'm down to once a day. The other day I actually went to work without shaving at all. (I promise I won't do it again. It was awful!) But an event that happened last Thursday is where I draw the line.

I was in the bathroom washing my hands (for the amount of time it took me to sing the ABC song in my head, which is the appropriate amount of time to properly clean one's hands), and I checked out my hair as I reached for exactly 3 paper towels--two to dry my hands, and one to turn off the faucet. I swear I'm not high maintenance. Anyway, as I turned in the mirror I was absolutely horrifed at what I saw. My neckline was a scraggly, furry mess. I find when something like this occurs, I want everyone to know about it so they don't think I'm walking around looking like a mess and don't realize it. So I bounded out of the bathroom and scolded everyone around me letting me walk around looking like a raggamuffin. (Aside...One time I taught a class at the gym at lunch time. I forget to pack a clean pair of undies and I couldn't bear the thought of wearing sweaty undies for the remainder of the day, so I went commando. Unfortunately, I was sitting with some people at work for the rest of the day. I was sitting in front of them and I was absolutely horrified by the thought of one of them gatching a glimpse of my bare booty. So instead of risking an accidental mooning, I felt the best thing would be for me to announce to everyone that I would be working sans panties for the rest of the day. I think it went over well.)

Anyway, the ah ha moment came for me when I accepted that I just didn't have time to get my neckline trimmed every week like I used to. It was liberating to be at peace with my body's hair growth rate. The old Hannah would have skipped lunch and gone that very day to get things cleaned up. The new Hannah cracked jokes about her manly neck line. Lest you think I have abandoned my true self, please note that at 9 am the next day, I was on the phone with the salon to squeeze myself in to Sheri's schedule to get my bangs trimmed and neckline cleaned. After all, I gotta watch my back, cause I'm not just anybody.