Hey ladies: it’s tough to be pretty, don’t stress
First and foremost, I want to tell every woman out there that I not only commend you, but I also respect all that you do to be “pretty.” Anyone who thinks that pretty is easy has never accidently pinched their eyelid in their eyelash curler. That stuff isn’t for pansies! I commend women that put in the time and effort to put themselves together day after day after day. I’m not saying that people aren’t naturally beautiful; I am however, saying that eyebrows don’t pluck themselves and I can confidently say a woman with a unibrow has never been my #WomanCrushWednesday. It’s tough to be pretty.
Not only do we have to worry about the safety of our eyelids, but we also have to deal with the excruciating pain of that split second when we get just a little too close to our eye with our mascara. Ladies, you know what I’m talking about. That moment your eye blinks harder and faster than you thought was humanly possible and manages to leave mascara residue all over your under-eye. Not to mention, your eye is now watering just enough to blot your top lashes together and ruin the masterpiece you’ve worked so hard to create. Don’t even get me started on accidently touching the wand of your mascara brush to your face and leaving a black “ink spot” on your cheek. Foundation = ruined. It’s tough to be pretty.
One of the biggest annoyances I have is how everyone is so quick to comment when, God forbid, a woman wears sweatpants and a hoodie ONE day. Boys don’t understand the confinement of jeans for a woman. They do not understand what it feels like to be jailed by a denim devil! It is torture. Do you think it feels good to have to lunge into your jeans just so you can bend down far enough to put shoes on? No. It does not. Do you think we enjoy our pants cutting off the circulation to our legs while we sit in class all day? No. We do not. Why don’t we buy a bigger size, you ask? I don’t know, maybe because some of us have some bigger assets (i.e. hips, butt, thighs) that we had to compensate for with the waist size and one more size up would leave the person sitting behind us with quite the view. It’s tough to be pretty.
Brace yourself ladies, I’m about to address the biggest annoyance of all: painting your nails. Yes, please let me spend at least thirty minutes holding a tiny brush with my non-dominant hand trying to steady it long enough to make three swipes and get it all over my finger so I can spend more time removing the residue. Also: when I get finished, please make me have to urgently use the restroom so I can play “am I going to wet myself before I get my pants shimmied down without smudging my nail polish?” And then, just for fun, Mr. Nail Polish, why don’t you chip off so we can go through this process again tomorrow. It’s tough to be pretty.
To those of you that feel the pain of pretty, I grant you TWO cheat days next week. I release you from the burden of curling irons, denim, heels, and nail polish. When someone comments on how “tired” you look, here’s what you do: you stop what you are doing, slowly look up at them, make awkward-silent-eye-contact (with a touch of a glare) and say to them: “it’s tough to be pretty.” We are woman, hear us roar.