Christian Dior me from my head to my toes

My birthday is coming up. I sent the husband an email with a list of things I'd like to have. Books, a pedometer, stuff like that. Oh, and a link to my Amazon wishlist, which could backfire. The last time I did that he got me a copy of Sink Reflections, which, yes, I wanted, but maybe not for Christmas? (Although, to give the husband credit, he does give me good presents. It's just that sometimes he also, well, you know. Gives me books on cleaning. Or a hair dryer. Or nothing at all, like my last birthday.)

Anyway. Getting back to the topic at hand, tonight I was watching What Not To Wear and I thought, "I want a makeover."

The woman in the show was a redhead, like me. We didn't have anything else in common. She was short and curvy and just all around really cute. I'm tall and curvy in all the wrong places. I won't comment on my overall looks.

She was real, though, not model-looking, but a real woman, with a few bulges where she doesn't want them, not looking as young as she used to, and of course, the red hair. It was enough to make me identify with her.

They made her look so good. They played up her figure, camouflaged the bulges, put her in shoes and skirts that showed off her fantastic legs. More importantly, she looked so happy. She was having fun and really enjoying herself.

I saw her having so much fun and I wanted that so badly. I want to feel good about the way I look. I want to have clothes that are fun to wear, things that are pretty and make me feel pretty. I want a hairstyle that doesn't scream "Mother of little ones, who has no time to blow dry!" I want someone to take time on me, fuss with my hair, tell me I can look pretty again.

I keep thinking, "When I lose weight," or, "When the girls are older," or, "When the husband isn't working so much and I have more time and we have more money."

But I'm tired of waiting. I don't know how to get out of this hole, but wow, I'm tired of it.