Not a Girly Girl

Never thought of myself as a girly girl.  Of course, my mom, being the southern belle she was, always dressed me in frilly dresses with Mary Jane shoes…oh, and don’t forget the white gloves and matching hat.  That’s when we were going to church or a rare dinner out or taking the bus to downtown Orlando for a little shopping.

I don’t remember hating that look, but I was much more comfortable as a barefoot girl running down to the lake or climbing ridiculously tall pine trees.  Naturally, I’d climb all the way to the top, only falling once that I remember.  But, where was my mom?  Seemingly, oblivious to all danger.  Never once told me to come down.  No doubt, she was on the phone with her friend, Phyllis.  This was decades before helicopter moms.

I loved sports.  There were no competitive sports for girls, but every year I looked forward to the Orange County Field Day.  Usually, I competed in the 50-yard dash and the running broad jump.  I never won but I got a couple of red and white ribbons.

Girls could be cheerleaders, which I was for a short period of time.  That’s because I blew out my knee at 15, imitating in a mean way the prettiest girl in the school, who was not all that gifted in the coordination department.  I never fully recovered from that injury, so before girls could be competitive, I was done.  My real life introduction to karma.

I still loved sports but, mainly, as a spectator.  My greatest loves are basketball, baseball, tennis and golf.  I am amazed that I am glued to TV golf.  Years ago, I thought watching golf was like watching paint dry.  That was before I played and got the game.  Now, I have my favorite teams, players and can bore you to tears with my opinions in all those sports.

For better or worse, I passed along my passion to all three of my children.  Fortunately, they all were able to play competitively.  My younger daughter met her husband playing in an adult soccer league.  My son still plays basketball at least weekly.  They’re raising kids who are also active in basketball, soccer, baseball, and lacrosse.

My two daughters are definitely not girly girls.  Not enamored with makeup and frilly dresses.  Pink is not their color.  However, my only granddaughter, at least at age 8, is more girly girl than my girls ever were.  Don’t even think about getting her clothes that are not pink!  How do these things happen?

I say I’m not a girly girl, but with a few caveats.  I’m a Dane, born blonde.  Which translates to light eyelashes.  It’s a rare day that I leave the house without mascara and eyeliner.  Of course, drawing that straight line on my upper eyelid gets more challenging every month!  I have quite the supply of that magic pencil…never will I run out.

Then, there are the nails.  Belatedly at the age of 50, I discovered the joys of manicures and pedicures.  Every week, I kid you not, I am sitting across from Michelle at Tip Top Nails at Jacaranda Square.  Now, I even occasionally imbibe in eyebrow, chin and lip waxing.  Never ever thought that would be me.

Today was the best, though.  In my opinion, there is nothing in the world quite like a facial!  I lie down on that massage table, hear that soft music and take in the aroma of eucalyptus and I am immediately in a deep meditation.  An hour later, I am so relaxed, I can barely move.

Maybe I’m more girly girl than I thought!