Intergalactic Space Creatures

“I need a haircut. I look like a dirty Q-tip.”

I don’t remember much about my first day of work with the exception of arriving fifteen minutes early to mentally prepare, and my co-worker’s words when I finally walked through the door.

We’ll call her Lola Falana.* She’s the girl who struts around in an alien t-shirt and jeggings…but can also pull off the “post-makeover Sandy” look (complete with sky-high heels and satin-y pants). Like me, she balks at the idea of taking off your shoes at a party after all that primping.

But she also knows how to laugh at herself – that’s probably the most attractive quality about her, and the most empowering thing she taught me how to do.

So I laugh. I laugh on the days when my hair resembles Darth Vader’s helmet; when my skin is irritated and I swear you could hold up a picture of the moon’s surface next to my face and see no difference; when I’m restless for a makeover, lest I morph into some intergalactic space creature.

I bring myself back down to earth through the revered art of memes. Because I’m still me on those days, the path to “pretty” is hilarious, and there’s no greater beautifier than carefree, contagious, gut-wrenching laughter.

After. Am I pretty yet?
My mom’s gentle way of telling me I need a trim.
The path to “pretty” is lined with ice-cold sheet masks and Netflix marathons.



*Fun story: She once used that name to make a reservation at Javier’s. The host thought she was a prank caller and had to frantically put a table for 13 together when we arrived.


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