Okay I admit. I am jealous of those women who are always so put together. You know who you are, with your little scarves tied just so. Every strand of your hair is in place, even your weave, and stays that way all day long. Your makeup is always perfect. And you wear that supreme air of confidence that says that you know that you have 'got it going on'. Perhaps you too struggle like me to get this look together. If so, it certainly does not show.

While I have never been unduly feminine, I have always been described as prissy. Growing up I loved playing dress-up. While my younger sister who was a major tomboy rode her second-hand bicycle with breakneck speed and beat up on neighborhood boys, I tried on my mother's dresses that were destined for the ragbag. I traced my lips with red candies like lipstick before popping them in my mouth.   Strings of pearls, a hat complete with veil and high heels rounded out my outfit. 

If I were feeling particularly brave I would reach up to the top shelf of my mother's closet where she kept one of her two fox flings. You know the ones with the eyes and tail that women often wore draped over coats and suits, and I put that on although those glass eyes with that blink stare kind of scared me.

This desire for perfection resulted from my mother scolding me for simply-- being. "Come into this house so that I can comb your hair" she’d call. "I don't want the neighbors to think that I let you girls run around looking wild and crazy. I am not raising no heathens" she declared. That's why my adored ponytail always ended up in braids after a few, short hours. 

This perfection fantasy even wound its way into my marriage. As I longed to be the perfect wife. I wanted my spouse to feel that he made a great decision in marrying me. So when he told me that he adored homemade pound cakes, I set out with gusto to make one. After all I had always heard that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Years later I learned that this was just another one of those' old wives’ tales', for in reality the way to a man's heart is a little farther down.

Betty Crocker I was not. To my utter amazement there were a trillion recipes for pound cake. One said to add six eggs, at room temperature. Another called for a pinch of Cream of Tartar. What is world was Cream of Tartar? And how much is a pinch, I wondered? Not having any, I wondered what would happen if I left it out. So I did. 

A peek in the oven showed a beautiful, golden creation. Taking it out to cool, my cake deflated like a balloon. Mortified, I put it out by the trash, only later to discover the neighbor's cat sleeping on it. Still after many tries I perfected the perfect pound cake, only to learn that sweet potato pie was now what my darling craved.

Today I might chose a scarf or some other accessory to perfect an outfit. Although I don't care how many books I have read on how to wear a scarf, mine never looks like any of those pictured. And have you ever noticed that there is always someone who can't wait to tell you when you have made a fashion faux pas? 

"I don’t think that I’ve never seen a scarf worn that way" a lady once told me. I don't think that this was a compliment. However I just chalked it up to her jealousy of my unique, fashion sense.  Another remarked, "girl I have a blouse just like that, only mine buttons in the back". Which I suppose explains those’ barely there' darts beneath my shoulder blades, now that I think of it. Oh well.

Still with confidence born of trial and error, I have finally discovered what works for me and what doesn't. You see with maturity comes the freedom to be who I am. Not perfect, just myself, just me.