Pre-preparations for a tentative return to society after years of hermitage

like most people, my self care involves chasing the scent of a young European millionaire's custom leather valise

Yesterday friend of the blog DanT dropped into my suggestion box with a helpful “you should try posting more than once every six months.” Fair enough, Dan!

Things have taken a turn on this humor-based slice of life blog of late, with such lighthearted topics as *checks notes* abortion, assisted suicide, and a book review of a memoir about a marriage unraveling. Just the knee-slapping hilarity y’all signed up for!

I’ve been really preoccupied the past couple months with my second semester of Anatomy and Physiology, which is admittedly a veritable grab-bag of hilarious material: sphincters galore! The human penis! The true story of why poop is brown! I’m sorry to say I’ve been wasting the slam-dunk comedy opportunities by doing other more boring things such as “studying” and “parenting.”

But no more! Today is the day the old Erin is back, cruder and funnier than ever! The topic? The death penalty.

Just kidding. My “ethic of life” series is temporarily paused. I don’t have time to solve the death penalty right now. Instead, today I’ll be discussing what I’m referring to as Project How Erin Got Her Groove Back, which is my ongoing slow, laborious, halfhearted attempt to prepare myself to reenter society as a “person who has purchased clothing in the past five years” or at least “someone who has heard of a hairbrush before.”

I don’t wanna brag, but while you people of the white-collar workforce went through a whole year of wearing sweats, I haven’t worn real pants in 12 years.¹

The aforementioned A&P class is a prerequisite for the upcoming second bachelor’s degree I’ll be acquiring when Harry starts kindergarten next fall. My first career was as an editor for a local newspaper and then a travel industry newspaper. My second career was as a sub-par homemaker-slash-owner/operator of Etheridge Montessori, an ad hoc operation where desperate friends and family drop of their kids at my house to be kept alive and fed while they go do important work. My third career will be nursing.

At the sprightly age of 39, I’ve realized I should probably develop some sort of personal aesthetic and self-care routine so that when I finally emerge from the World of the Home, I don’t feel adrift and bedraggled. Here’s the rundown:

• I’ve been putting on a little makeup more regularly—I actually really enjoy makeup as an art form and a self-care ritual, but I’m trying to come up with an Everyday Look that’s put together yet quick. This should be easy, but the last time I wore makeup regularly Barack Obama had just been elected president. Both Barack and I aren’t quite as youthful as we were then, so revisiting techniques and finishes is in order.

• Signature scent exploration. I was never obsessed with fragrances, but after having babies I didn’t want to overwhelm them with aromas while breastfeeding, say, or waste nice perfumes on garments I’m selecting based on my comfort with them being snotted or spat on.

  Forerunners at the moment are Santal 33 (which is apparently very popular in NYC; to me it’s what F1 race-car driver Charles LeClerc’s luggage probably smells like when he’s unpacking at home in Monaco after disembarking from a private jet) and Baccarat Rouge (which would be the scent of strawberries if the world was a better place). The Baccarat is extremely expensive and probably too heady for an everyday fragrance. I’m still experimenting with samples and going into Sephora to sniff things from time to time.²

I just want to smell like the fine leather suitcase belonging to this man.

• I’ve been occasionally practicing more chic yet quick updos with my hair. Although plenty of nurses wear messy buns, I’ve been doing my hair in the same messy bun since 1998. It’s time to class it up a bit.

• Nail grooming has also become Something I Do. My natural nails are fine if rather fragile, so I learned to apply gel tips and use gel polish to make them a bit stronger and more fun to look at. As a nurse I won’t be able to have long nails (though even now, I don’t do “long nails” per se, but still longer than short) but I’ve been enjoying the artistic aspect of nails as well. And again, having nails done looks more polished.

So there you have it. I’m open to suggestions for fragrances, makeup, blog topics, books to read, and also just telling me what you’ve been up to. But for the love of all that’s holy, please don’t bring up the election: Cheri Beasley has been blowing up my phone for weeks.³

1. This is not an exaggeration. The closest thing to real pants I’ve gotten is jeans.

2. Note: in Sephora it’s best to sniff only the sample fragrances; sniffing the employees is apparently considered “weird” and “harassment.”

3. “Cheri Beasley lets criminals out of jail,” 4-year-old Harry announced the other day. Thanks, political attack ads! His godfather Nick: “Oh lord, he’s being radicalized by the far right!”