The Epic Search for the Perfect One

“Steph!” my mother yells from upstairs. “Steph! Wake up! You have to get ready for class.”

“Mmm,” I groan, rolling over onto my stomach, not ready to get up just yet. I lay in bed, debating skipping anthropology, until guilt gets the better of me. I force myself up and turn on the lights to put my contact lenses in. I’ve had them so long that I no longer require a mirror to put them in or take them out.

I normally bound up the stairs, but it’s too early for that. This is more of a crawl as I drag myself upstairs and into the shower. The cold shampoo against the hot water wakes me up slightly. It’s mornings like these when I debate taking up a coffee habit, but then I remember just how much I hate the taste. Stupid picky taste buds. They always get in the way of my bad habits – except, perhaps, for my love of chocolate. That’s something that needs to be stopped, before I lose my high metabolism and become four-hundred pounds.

Slightly more alert now, I dry myself off and throw back on my pyjamas. My mom always tells me to get fresh clothes to put on after my shower, but they’re just not that comfortable. Plus, I need to slowly work my way out of sleep-mode. I throw my bathrobe on over top and head into my room, a towel balancing delicately atop my head.

Yawning, I reach over and grab my primer, which I haphazardly rub all over my face, paying little attention to detail. I figure it’s okay because it’s clear anyway. I then proceed to fix up all my make-up until not a piece of skin is left on my head that isn’t covered by something. I look like a completely different person and I’m rather impressed by the transformation – especially since I nearly fell asleep while putting on my mascara.

Blow-drying my hair is one of my favourite parts of the morning. I stand with one arm extended, dryer in hand, and just allow my skin to absorb the heat for a moment. It feels so good since my room is below ground level and always so cold! I close my eyes for a moment before picking up my hairbrush and smoothing out the slight curls which still have yet to grow out from a perm I got almost two years ago.

Once my hair is dried and straightened, I decide it’s time to pick my outfit for the day. I like waiting to decide because I’m very choosy about what outfits match which look. I’m very vain, I know, but so are all my friends, so I figure it’s okay.

I stare at my open closet for a moment, gazing at all my shirts. It’s amazing how much you can love something in a store and despise it when you get it home. That thought was directed at one yellow baby-doll mistake which hangs right in front of me. How I ever thought that was a good idea is beyond me. Considering my options, I decide upon a pink sweater I bought several months ago. It’s very cute and it matches my favourite tie-dyed shoes almost perfectly. I thumb through the closet shirt by shirt but realize it’s not there.

“Aw, frell,” I mutter under my breath, realizing I wore it a week ago and it was still yet to be washed. I roll my eyes and think. Perhaps if I wear my sparkly crystal barrette, I could wear the green striped polo I got last summer. I haven’t worn it since September, so it’s definitely been washed.

I find the polo shoved in-between a pair of khaki capris that make me feel like I’m on a safari and a blue baby doll tank top I had forgotten completely about. Man, the last time I wore that, I was in the audience at a Backstreet Boys concert and waiting in line to meet the opening band, the Click Five. I shudder at the thought. It’s not as pretty as it was in my head. Still, I pull it out and gaze at it. I frown, remembering why I haven’t worn it in so long – there was a huge hole in the bottom from my cat scratching me. I roll my eyes and shove it back in, silently reminding myself not to pet that cat tonight as punishment for the crime he’s long since forgotten.

I hop in place a little, trying to decide what else would make a good outfit for today’s make-up and hair, wishing I had my sister’s ability to wear whatever she wanted without care. I huff and plop down on the edge of my bed, folding my arms across my chest. I stare into the mirror across from me for a second, vainly making different expressions and poses as I think.

I’ve got it! I’ll wear my rhinestone GUESS? top that I got on sale a few months ago. I don’t think I’ve ever even worn it to school, but it was a great buy for only ten dollars with no sales tax. That shirt was probably the main reason I loved my trip to Pennsylvania so much; I’m still proud of that find. I look for it in the closet, but it doesn’t appear to be there. I go through again, more slowly this time, but I still don’t see it. Although, I did manage to find a top reading “Cheeky Monkey” in hot pink letters – one of life’s cruel jokes. Once more – hoping third time would be a charm – but sadly, I still didn’t find it. I knew this one wasn’t ripped or in the laundry. I rush into my sister’s room to look in her closet – well, what was her closet when she still lived at home, at least. Flipping through the piles of clothes my mom and I have shoved in there I realize this could take awhile, but I’m determined to find it now.

I’ve been through this closet four times now, since it’s so jammed. I’ve found my sparkly striped turtleneck and my leopard print tank top that has never been worn. I wrinkle my nose at that last find. Why would I have ever thought that was a good idea? Leopard print like that one hasn’t been in for years. I’m pretty sure it’s just because I was in a very Scary Spice mood when I was shopping that day. I found an off-the-shoulder hot pink sweater from two years before and all of my old work clothes. I’ve been through my mom’s clothing and my grandmother’s tops, but still come up empty. By the end of the sixth try, I’ve given up hope that it resides in there anymore.

I sigh and head over to the dresser across the room. The top four drawers are filled with sets of my pyjamas, I know, but I sort through them quickly, anyway. I didn’t think it would be in there, but just in case, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to check. I go to the bottom drawer, which still holds some of my regular clothes, but only find some old ponchos and a couple of oversized hoodies I bought just for their softness. I take a deep breath. I should have skipped anthropology. I’m going to be late now, anyway.

Tapping my foot, I decide to check the dresser in my room, even though I’m confident it’s not in there. I’ve found bras, including one with martini glasses on it that thoroughly confuses me, underwear, tank tops and socks, but nothing else. I do find it rather funny, though, that my sock drawer is literally over-flowing, and feel a cross between amusement and annoyance when one of my Christmas socks starts playing an obnoxious version of Jingle Bells and lighting up.

I sit on the floor with my chin on my palm as I hear my mom yelling that we have to leave. I call back that I just need one more minute. The shirt is gone, I think sadly. I stare back up at my closet as my mom replies, “Now, not in a minute!”

She sounds angry. That can’t possibly be good. Life is never fun when my mother is angry. In fear, I grab the first shirt I see and throw it on to match my pale jeans and diamond cross. I don’t even notice which top I’m wearing until I’m sitting in the car and we’ve pulled halfway out of the driveway.

“Really?” my mom asked.

“What?” I reply.

“I thought you’d want to save that for the convention.”

I freeze. The convention? As in the sci-fi convention? I look down at my top and sure enough, it says “Share the wonders I’ve seen...” I slap my forehead as I realize the back side of it has Farscape written in giant letters and a list of the uncharted territories. Great. Just frelling great. I think. All that work and I frelling ended up wearing this! I like to know of my geekdom and revel in it. Not just accidentally fall into it. Frell.

Still, as I look down at the t-shirt made for the tenth anniversary of my favourite television show, I can’t help but smile. All this effort to look good and I still ended up showing off my geeky side.