On Being a Young(ish) Female

I have bathed in bubbly water. Exfoliated my skin with lemon body polish. Shaved my legs. Washed AND conditioned my hair. Sat wrinkled in tepid bath water waiting for a hair mask to work a miracle on my haystack. I've GENTLY patted my skin and hair dry. Covered myself in rich cocoa butter. Splashed myself with sweet smelling rose water. I've changed into flirty pyjamas because frumpiness is a slippery slope I'm not ready to slide down. I've blow dried my hair painstakingly with a little round brush. Applied defrizzer. Waxed my eyebrows. Tweezered the stubborn hairs. Applied a facemask. Sat impatiently as my face went tight and cracked. I've nourished myself with cleanser. Remembered my age-defying eye cream. Anointed my face with anti-wrinkle night cream in defiance. I've massaged my cuticles. Filed. Painted my nails. Sat impatiently waiting for the polish to dry and wondered what men do in their free time. I've matchmade my underwear like a Frenchwoman. Rooted through my wardrobe to find a pretty dress that hides my 'chocolate every day for lunch' stomach. Experimented with inappropriately red lipsticks. Just my feet to do and earrings to match. And shoes. The confounded shoe dilemma. There goes the rest of my evening.

Being a girl is a full time job.