Never rush a woman when she’s primping to go somewhere — never. You might be running a little late or even a lot late, but unless you want to meet your maker earlier than heaven has ordained, back off.
I have witnessed a couple of epic fights between spouses and partners because the men at some point in their vigil made the cardinal sin of saying, “Let’s go!” The first time I became aware of this phenomenon was when I was about seven, and my godparents were our houseguests. My parents were taking them to a party and my godmother let me watch her get ready. My godfather kept popping into the room saying, “Let’s go, we’re late,” and my godmother was getting frantic with each visit he paid her. The edgier she got, the more mistakes made, hence, more do-overs. It got to a point where, in frustration, she told me, “One more ‘Let’s go’ from your Ninong and he’ll see the devil himself come to life.” They ended up leaving extremely late, as the harder he pressed, the more my godmother took her sweet time just to get back at him. I learned from my parents the next day that they stayed away from each other at the party.
Another time, in college, a good friend was getting ready with me in the room, while her boyfriend waited outside. He was taking her to dinner to meet his parents for the first time. She was a bundle of nerves, unsure of everything from what to wear, to what to say. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to go at all. She kept glancing at her watch, conscious of the time ticking by. She couldn’t get her bangs to curl out the way she wanted — flipping right at the temples and cascading to the ears. Just as she was turning the curling iron, her boyfriend barged in and said, “It’s taking forever. Let’s go now.” She jumped in surprise and managed to singe her ear. You can imagine the word war that ensued. She ended up not going.
“Let’s go.” Two words, when uttered to women in mid-preen, are like intercepted heat-seeking missiles, reprogrammed to return to launcher. They will explode in your face and, yes, they will deface you. Please comprehend that women do not lose track of time as we dress up. In fact there is no occasion that we are more hyper aware of time and how late we are running as when we are getting ready to go somewhere.
Under all that time pressure, your pacing about, and your repeated utterance of “Let’s go,” we are pushed into a state of panic: our insides churn and I don’t mean having cute, dainty butterflies in the tummy. We’re talking tsunamis. We know we are late but we also know that panic has caused our hands to get shaky, sending the eyeliner one tenth of a millimeter off course, making us look like we have a microscopic hairpin glued to our upper lid. Yes, we realize that you can’t see it, but we know it’s there and it can’t stay there. This state of emergency means that now we have to wipe the eyeliner off, then reapply the foundation that goes directly under it, plus the primer that goes under the foundation — three layers. It’s no joke.
This means that we have to reapply primer, let that dry for a while, and then layer foundation on top of it, and then reattempt the eyeliner, this time making sure to color within the lines. If we don’t do all those steps, one side of our face will look pale and pasty and the other side, glamorous and vampy. Think about it: would you like to be seen with a Victor/Victoria kind of girl on your arm? I didn’t think so. And it is for this reason that you must back off. We would actually finish much earlier if you didn’t get us edgy by doing all that pacing, foot tapping, sighing, and hurrying up.
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You must wonder why we take so long to get ready. You see, we have different sets of prettifying processes depending on the occasion. We have our “daily” regimen of: shower, body lotion, no hairdo, and lip gloss for grocery shopping and running errands (meaning: no one who matters is bound to see us). We have our “lunch” look for when we lunch with friends: shower, body lotion, hair do, sunscreen, foundation, curl lash, mascara, lipstick, and maybe blush — depending on the mood. And then we have our “nighttime glam” look, which, I must admit, is pretty intense: shower, body lotion, major hairdo, primer, foundation, concealer, eye shadow, eye liner, curl lash, mascara, highlighter, cheek contour, lip liner, lipstick, and a sweep of setting loose powder to tie everything in.
I know, even I get tired just thinking about this whole process, which takes at least an hour. I’ve had my share of run-ins because of this problem and so I’ve had to revamp my routine. I can do makeup in 10 minutes flat. The problem is I have a whole lot of hair — thick and long — so it takes 15 minutes just to dry. This doesn’t include styling, which I’ve had to forego to keep the peace. Anyway, he’s the one to deal with the let-it-be hair since I don’t see myself away from mirrors, so let him suffer the looks. The 15-minute scrubbing time in the shower is something I’m not willing to compromise, so I take around 40 minutes to get ready for a night out.
That doesn’t include several more minutes of actually changing into the clothes we have picked out for the occasion, given that we had mentally pre-picked them out. Sometimes, when you don’t give us notice with enough lead time, and we actually have to decide on an outfit on the fly, then we’re talking maybe another half an hour for trial and error, mix-matching, accessorizing with baubles, shoes and bags. You also have to factor in our rethinking and changing of the mind and starting over with yet another outfit and a whole new process.
There is an option that’s easier than this D.I.Y. method albeit more costly: going to the salon for hair and makeup. It will set you back around P3,000, plus with travel time to and from your home, not to mention traffic, your partner might be better off doing all the primping herself.
Why do we enslave ourselves to elaborate, time-consuming, illogical primping practices? Because we want to be fab, that’s why. It does take a village — now you know. We take pains in looking good so we can feel good about ourselves and so you can feel good about being with us. We do all this because clearly it’s a special occasion you’re taking us to. If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be bellyaching and rabble-rousing for us to hurry the heck up, would you?
Just what do you do to avoid the trauma of dealing with a half-dressed, angry woman and an embarrassingly late entry to your boss’s birthday party? You have several options — not all are painless, but they work.
1. Give an earlier time. Tell her the party starts at 6 p.m. instead of 7 p.m. to allow for her habitual lateness. You may only use this a couple of times until she catches on. When she does, resort to number 2 or 3.
2. Take separate cars. If she balks at this, explain to her that doing so will relieve both of you of unnecessary stress.
3. Leave her at home. Lie about the invite and say she wasn’t included; deal with the consequences later. Meantime, enjoy the party. She is bound to find out so this option is not for the faint-hearted.
4. Give her an ultimatum if her habitual tardiness is really giving you grief. If she’s not willing to compromise, it’s time to find someone else who’s willing to tweak her primping routine to the not-so-glam-but-will-do type just so you arrive at your event on time and everything is right with the world.
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Thank you for your letters. I am conducting a Creative Writing workshop for children and teens this February. You may reach me at cecilelilles@yahoo.com.
