It is a fact universally acknowledged the the pandemic ain’t been too kind to any of us in the beauty department. This is actually a truth that I’ve covered quite extensively here on the old blawg. Remember that time we had our own salon? Or the time I got gussied up to trim the dog’s nails? And who could forget the great Driver’s License Photo Debacle of 2020? Certainly not I.
So, while I don’t necessarily consider myself a beauty per se, I’m obv not hideous. Even though coronavirus has taken the luster off the old girl, I wouldn’t say I’ve completely lost my touch. I mean…I make these leggings and messy bun look good, m’kay? What I’m saying is, in the proverbial Beauty/Beast comparison game, I’m for sure not the Beast.
Or so I thought.
I was texting my friend, Alisha, the other night when we both came to an uncanny realization.
[I am listing Alisha by name because she requested that I do so. Apparently, she has aspired to being mentioned on the blog for a while now, so I am happy to give her her own post and welcome her to these hallowed halls. You’re famous now, ‘Lish, even though you’re friends of friends with actual famous people and this blog is mainly written for my mom and my own personal amusement. Glad you’re here, pal.]
So aaaaanyway, Alisha and I were texting about how I have a bad attitude about things (read, things I willingly volunteered for, but am now salty about being a part of…please roll your eyes at me) and this is how it went down:
Y’all, when she described the West Wing from Beauty and the Beast, I felt like she was showing me a picture from House Hunters International.
I want to go to there.
Imagine it, a place that’s already torn to shit so I don’t have to worry about cleaning. I can rage break mirrors and rip portraits when the weight of the world is too much and people will leave me alone?? Sign. me. up.
Upon further reflection, I realized that I’m even more beastly than I first thought. Please observe:
- can’t eat oatmeal/any meal without spilling everywhere
- table manners and any form of social etiquette are basically nonexistent at this point (did I ever have them? No one knows.)
- absurdly short temper
- library of books I haven’t gotten around to reading
- basically a shut in and not mad about it
- unsightly body hair situation
- my bffs are found in the housewares section (may or may not have already rehearsed a musical number featuring my Dyson)
Y’all. Alisha and I…and dare I presume, all of us…have been operating under the assumption that we’re Belle. We’ve been waltzing through quarantine thinking we’re the Beauty, reading the books, shutting down the patriarchy, being valued for our minds, twirling in fields of wildflowers. And now we’re faced with the harsh, world shaking realization that in all reality, we’re the Beast.
I’m not sure what more 2020 is going to take from us, but stripping me of my unshakeable belief that I am the princess in the story feels like it’s asking a bit much, no?
And yet, the more I ponder things the more right it feels. Because if I’m honest, I definitely do have poor manners, I’m grouchy 95% of the time, I’m learning to love feeding birds, and I’m real hairy. I’m here for it, tbh. From here on out, I am 100% embracing my beastliness and I hope you’ll join me.
Just come on over to the dark side. We have an army of anthropomorphic cleaning supplies, some gargoyles, a depressing rose to help you count the days to eternity, and very low expectations. You’re more than welcome…just don’t set foot in the West Wing.