Tell Me I'm Pretty.

Because sometimes I need to be told. Like when I see a bunch of perfectly coiffed female attorneys with perfect hair and perfect suits and perfectly professional looking makeup and gorgeous jewelry and well, I could go on.

I often air dry my hair on the subway. It's still shiny and healthy and nice. I do actually rejoice in my hair. But there are fly aways. And I throw it up in messy buns and knots almost every afternoon. My eye and lip makeup usually consists of mascara and lip gloss, and I own maybe three nice necklaces and pairs of earrings. Rings? Never got into them. And clearly the left ring finger will be bare for the foreseeable future.

I have nice suits. And nice shoes. And a couple nice bags. Yet I can't seem to put it all together without looking like I'm trying too damn hard instead of looking effortlessly perfect.

And the nails. Oh, the nails. I. Just. Don't. Care. I think spending money on manicures is a big fat waste. I've always been a picker - not a a biter, a picker. But it's produces the same effect. Bad nails. I occasionally brush some innocuous color on them, and have made sure my toenails have been colored and presentable in summer shoes for the past few months. But again. I don't care about my damn nails.

All in all, over a year out of school, and I probably still look like a law student pretending to be a lawyer. Maybe when I feel more lawyerly (which is definitely happening slowly over time), I'll gain that effortless physical coiffed-ness I admire in others.

Or I'll just have fly aways and bad nails for the rest of my life.