Pouf

I feel as though I would like to write something.

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That's all I've got.

[Please see previous post.]

Despite the cognitive fog in which I seem to so permanently find myself, I have a bit to say about smugness.  For some reason, when I think of smugness, I think of smeared mascara.  A fashion faux pas at the least.  We may even take it to the level of an outright social gaffe.  Oye.  A little harsh, you might say.  But, let's think about this:  Smeared mascara can only mean one of three things.  1.  You're overly emotional.  2.  You use cheap products.  3.  You rub your eyes too much.  And we all know that rubbing your eyes too much causes the delicate skin surrounding your occipital orbs to sag, droop and bag.  Clearly you don't care about maintaining appearances of youthfulness.

So naturally, when I think of smugness I think of, self-pouffedness.  (Yes, of course that's a classic Zivot Muj neologism.)

Not unlike the Michelin Man.

Ah.  Yes.  Self-pouffedness.

We see it in the smug young professional who, to herself thought, "Most assuredly I have averted the poor-college-student phase.  Take that! all you naysayers.  Of course I have my priorities straight!  To marry an equally young professional, drive the hottest crossover, anniversary in equally hot locations, adorn all of my forthcoming darlings in nothing but Janie & Jack [ok, not really my style, but, you know].  Having been single this long, I certainly have earned it."

That's when I learned that it's wise to always wear waterproof mascara.  Not for the swimming, but for the saving face.  And for the endurance.

Because smugness almost always gives way to what I like to call life's little exfoliations.

Off with the bad, out with the new.  Which is also raw, in constant need of moisture replenishment and maybe a little toner.

I got the young professional (smokin', I might add), the darling and managed one anniversary in a sweltering location.

But there's something to be said about the peaks and valleys.  The dips and dives.  The trips and tribes.  (No, not tribes, but it kinda rhymed--unless you count the darling as a tribe.)  There's something to be said for sweat equity, star chasing and dragnetting for dreams.  And that something to be said can't exactly be said.  It's experience.  And I wouldn't swap it for anything--not even a crossover.

So waterproof mascara it is.

And make mine the blackest black.

For I shall never be so smug again.

At least for a while.