A THING CALLED BLISS
I hate to admit this, even to myself, but when one of my women’s magazines comes up for renewal, I’m going to let it expire. I can hardly believe I’ve made this decision as I’ve been a subscriber for years. But it’s time to accept I’ve outgrown it. I no longer care about the latest night creams or trends in makeup. To be honest, in the cold dry weather we’re having, I’ve resorted to petroleum jelly as the remedy for dry skin and my complexion loves it. As for finding the brightest colors for spring, most of them clash with my base color which is sallow.
I’ve tried to imagine what topics would interest me in a woman’s magazine now. I admit I like to look at fashion but it doesn’t touch my life. 95% of my time I work at the computer in my bathrobe. I save my sweat pants for formal occasions. With my bionic hips, stilettos aren’t an option and as for wire bras that gouge and mascara the flakes into my eyes, I don’t have enough vanity left to endure the pain.
I tend to agree with Mark Twain that the “finest clothing made is a person’s skin…” so if I must put something on, I’d like clothes as comfortable as pajamas, that don’t need ironing and can go through a 1000 washings and look new. If a woman’s magazine could tell me where to buy clothes like that, I’d subscribe.
I wouldn’t mind nutritious recipes that don’t ask me to purchase exotic ingredients like unsalted butter or nori granules. I’d like to cook with few ingredients, please, dishes that can be assembled and eaten in one casserole and would microwave to perfection in less than 5 minutes. Better yet, I’d love a magazine that would tell me how to eat well, not cook and leave me with few dirty dishes.
Most of all, I’d like to see a magazine that talks less about ways to compete and more about the importance of being myself, not a glamour puss, or an entrepreneur or a supper mom. Just myself. I’d call it Bliss.