Welp, one more day of not using paper towels is ahead of me. Friday night, Peter and I had dinner with a friend at a quick service chicken place (Chicken Works and Salad, which I recommend for a good cheap bite) and, not having brought along my own serviceware with me, I was forced to use the plastic cutlery, paper napkin, and worst of all, styrofoam cup. Oof. I could have just gotten the damned hot dog at 7-Eleven after all.
And naturally today, since I am home from work this week to do some big garden changes, Hannah woke up froggy-throated from a cold that she'd had all weekend. Her colds almost always morph into ear infections, so I brought her in to the doctor to see if the ear infection had begun. It hadn't, so we were sent home with directions to call when/if the fever starts and she'll be put on antibiotics again. Anyway, I dropped her off at my mom's place to nap while I went and picked up a sod cutter. A couple of hours later, Mom brought Hannah home (she didn't nap) and joined me to work in the yard. A couple of hours after that, Hannah finally passed out on the floor but woke herself up with a coughing fit -- a coughing fit that, as they often do for Hannah, turned into a barfing fit. I haven't bought paper towels for some time, so I had to clean it up with a rag. I wiped it all up, then brought it to the sink to rinse out. I took one look at the stringy, phlegmy, chunky brown barf in my hand, said "fuck it" and threw it out.
Don't look at me like that.
Overwhelmed by guilt and a deep desire to not have to clean up barf with a rag for the rest of my natural life in order to complete this challenge, I fished the damned thing out of the trash, rinsed it off, and threw it in the laundry. I remain virtuous on this Monday.
Week -- whatever it was, 13, 14, whatever -- when I tried to be presentable and pretty every day made me think that I should try (sort of) the opposite -- no makeup for a week. And since I'm home this week and thus won't have to deal with the "are you feeling well?" questions a makeupless face would mean at the office, I'm going for it this week. It's not the complete flip side of the perfect hygiene week --I'm not letting the 'stache grow out or the brows meet or not showering -- but I'm going to go starkers face- and hair-wise until Saturday. Why only Saturday? Because for one, I haven't worn any makeup or hair stuff since Friday night we're having people over on Saturday and unless some complete transformation happens in the next several days where I don't wake up looking pallid and half-dead, I'm wearing some slap for company.
I do have several activities planned over the week where normally I would put on a little makeup -- foundation and mascara are usually my go-to minimum, and really should be for everyday errands. I shudder to think of what I run around looking like on your average day when I don't go to work -- I've worn the Mom Who No Longer Cares ensemble of holey yoga pants with a holey t-shirt, a hoodie, and flip-flops to the grocery store on many occasions. I have...more than one pair of pants that I wear in public with a hole in the buttal area, even. So the naked face is probably the last thing people notice on those occasions. Still, a bit of makeup goes a long way to making me look rested, pulled together, and perhaps a little less wild around the eyes. I feel a little better knowing I have something between my face and the world, to be perfectly honest. And now I won't have that.
Maybe I will look into ski masks.