Never a Trophy Wife
I live in what is essentially a beach community. And like most beach communities, people move here with a whole lot of money. It’s laughable, in my book, that most of the women begin to conform to a certain look: bleached blonde hair that looks brittle and sun-damaged, French pedicures, orange spray-on tans, lots of gold chains and rings and luxury watches, and massive bug-eye sunglasses. They overdress in pricey, yet still trashy clothes and wear so much makeup that they look older than they actually are – lipstick too frosty, eye shadow too dark, eyes lined with harsh lines. I suppose this is the trophy wife uniform.
It’s not what I aspire, too, though. I live in Florida and I get some of the best sunshine in the world all year long. I want my healthy, natural tan to show, I want my hair to be long and flowing, and to pick up the sea breezes. I like to wear sandals and capris and flowy knit shirts that pick up the winds and let the cool air touch my skin. I love makeup, too, but I generally only wear it in the evenings or for events. My skin looks young and I want that to show.
Seriously, if I had the money that some of these “trophy wives” had, I’d spend it on local charities and putting an organic greenhouse into my yard, instead of on plastic surgery and weekly root touch-ups.
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