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We’re the Real Women of Johnson County
So, the rust in our water attacked my fake blonde hair color, much like the fat from cream horns attacked my thighs.
For the thigh fat, I use long, bulky T shirts.
For the orange tint in my tresses, I bought a special potion at a beauty supply store.
But soon after applying the gel, I realized I forgot to also buy a shower cap.
I tied a plastic bag around my head and clipped it in the front with a clothes pin. It was tied so tight that excess skin wrinkled in little creases around the clothes pin in a not-so-lovely kind of way.
That old song, “I’m Too Sexy,” blasted through my head as I glanced at my reflection.
“Ain’t nothin’ sexy about you, chick.”
“Ain’t nothin’ sexy about you, chick,” I said to the comical view in the mirror.
A few minutes later, knowing I had to spend 20 minutes with my scalp under the grocery bag, I switched on the TV.
And there they were … the mannequin women from New Jersey Housewives on Bravo.
A few months ago, I obsessed for awhile about the Housewives of Orange County, lost interest and returned to old episodes of Seinfeld.
Once again, however, I was enthralled by the fact that these extremely wealthy women spend entire days on beauty enhancement.
They’ve had so much botox, they look like ventriloquist dolls with movement only in the mouth when they interact together.
None of them have back fat or little ham hocks hanging off their hips. And I’m pretty darn sure they don’t sit around with a smelly, sticky grocery bag stuck on their heads, waiting for the rusty-can orange to be bleached away.
Personally, I hate all the female fuss. I dye my hair only because I’m vain enough to want to avoid looking like my great grandma before I’m 50. Other than that, I don’t put much time into all the fluff.
I’ve got more to do than walk around looking like I’m going to the prom.
I’m not flitting around in cute little sundresses.
I mow around the barns in my faded overalls, perched on top of the Dixie chopper. I don’t have time or patience for fake fingernails either, since I love to dig in the dirt.
And even though the orange tint has disappeared from my hair, it’s not curled into a pretty hairdo.
No, it’s sweaty and flat, stuck to my wrinkled forehead.
I’m one of many real women of Johnson County. We dare to grocery shop with bed head and naked faces. We love sweat pants and beat up old flip flops. We blaze the trail for washing our own cars and doing our own laundry, raising our own kids, counting our own wrinkles.
New Jersey can’t hold a candle to us.
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