I Feel Pretty

I was rolling toward Boston today- feeling all pretty. I know you know what I mean, gals. It’s something twixt reality and mental illness-but you know it when it happens. Hell-it’s all in your mind- this feeling beautiful thing. And so I play hard with it when it comes along.

Today-I’ve got to say-I was channeling Charlize Theron- even though I am closer to say, Dame Judi Dench- if truth be told. When I feel this Charlize way, I keep checking myself out in the rear view. I smile at how my hair falls, I run my fingers through it slowly, with my head tilted back, ever so slightly for effect. I marvel at the way my wrinkles seem to be responding so well to the cream that I bought at the T J Maxx clearance aisle. My teeth seem impossibly white- and I apply another coat of plummy color- as I sail along- Pandora bleeding lovely love songs.

And oh yeah. I'll admit this for all of us. I flirt with men at stop lights. Anyone that looks over thirty is fair game.

Come on. You know how it’s done…if you don’t, crawl back into your habit. There’s that sidewise glance while you tap the steering wheel to the beat of the love. And then you make the move- that absent –minded sidewise glance.

Oh? Were you looking at me? Smile.

They usually aren’t- and I must interrupt my reverie-as the guy behind me blasts his horn to move it as the light goes green.

If you are heavily into your reverie, every song appeals in some way so personal-like it is your life out loud. You blast the radio louder. And sometimes you hit a spot of highway where the road undulates slightly-between macadam sections-and the car bounces in its springs, in rhythm with your heart. Like the road wants in on this happy mood. Sometimes it just feels so damn good to drive- when the music and the mood are right.

As my peaceful, happy state lights me up, I can almost see myself in a film noire, the camera in close- catching every nuance of my pretty face- as I approach the Boston skyline.

Go on…go there the next time you feel it. Feel pretty.