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EST. May 2000 (AD)




The Beauty of Balance

by Turquoise Taylor Grant

You're a modern woman, and while that means you're strong and beautiful and enjoy unprecedented freedom to pursue every dream in your head, it also means you've got a heap of modern problems. You've got to stand tall in stiletto heels, juggling your career and finances, relationships and scarves-it's a modern world! And you live in it. Here are a few pointers on injecting a little spirituality into your day, to help you achieve the perfect balance between mind and body, to create the most beautiful you you can be, inside and out.

If you're like most modern women, your day starts at 4:15 am, when you roll out of your hyperbaric chamber and signal to Sasha, your personal assistant, to turn off the oxygen valve. Ahhhh! You take that first breath of refrigerated air and wrap a robe around you as you take in the park view from the picture window in the solarium. Breathe deep! Enjoy that breath. Let it fill your lungs with oxygen and expand the space in your chest cavity where you had those two ribs removed to narrow your waistline. Hold that breath. Hold it! Keep on holding it. That's right.

This morning, instead of rushing right to the intercom to signal for your breakfast kelp smoothie/body wrap, take a moment to glory in yourself. Look at yourself. You really are amazing. Look at your lithe body, your satin hair and strong, brilliant teeth. It's unbelievable that Carl hasn't touched you in nearly seventeen months. Now let out that breath.

You're too good for him. You knew that when you met him, after the first date. You knew he'd never appreciate you. He's probably gay. You know for a fact that he is gay. He married you only because he couldn't admit his gayness to that nickel-plated witch of a mother he's got.

Now, take another breath. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Breathing. It's just one more thing that you have to do on your own around here. If stupid Carl hadn't fired the maid, she could bring you a smoothie right now, but no, instead, you have to call the employment agency and find a replacement. Keep holding that breath.

Next, turn and survey your reflection in the mirror above the lap pool. Is that one-way glass? Has Carl been spying on you? You know, you can tell one-way glass if you touch a pencil to the surface, and the point touches the reflection. You can use anything-it doesn't even have to be a pencil. Here, use this stick holding up the stem of that dendrobium on the baby grand-the plant will be fine. It'll be fine! OK, so it isn't one-way glass. Make a mental note to see if the side effects of Xanax include paranoia.

And now let that breath out. Let it carry away all your stress and anxiety about whether or not Erica is going to get that design contract that you've been working so hard on. You know you deserve that account. You're a far better interior designer. Erica's idea of design is to paint everything ivory and hurl fringe at it. Erica is crass and 26 years old and looks like Kate Moss.You hate Erica. Close your eyes and thank the Universe for sending Erica to your life, to act as an example of what a hateful, spiteful, bitter woman is, so that you can avoid her mistakes.

Breathe. Breathe. Look at you, you gorgeous creature! Now, it's time to dress for the day. You love getting dressed. No one looks better in clothes than you-you're perfect, even with that Caesarean scar, which you practically cannot even see, and should not constitute grounds for Carl failing to achieve an erection. You can't even see it, and it certainly doesn't make you look like the Bride of Frankenstein. Hardly at all.

Plus, Carl is gay.

Like all successful modern women, you already know that it dressing well is crucial in creating the proper image. With that in mind, let's visit your closet. What are all these dresses with the tags still on them? It's almost like you've shopped compulsively for years, accumulating a vault of clothes to bolster your sagging self-worth, while habitually wearing that same old ratty Donna Karan pantsuit you bought in 1992. Well, there's nothing wrong with that pantsuit, it's just that the lapels are a little frayed, and it's showing some pilling in the under-arm region. Also, the pants would probably sit better if you lost those 15 pounds you've picked up in the last year or so. But you are not fat. You are definitely not fat! Carl had no right to say that, no matter how high he was. He's just used to comparing you to the lean, toned bodies of the models in his PlayGirl magazines, that's all. You know they airbrush those pictures. You're fine. You are a strong, beautiful woman. A woman of the Universe, at one with her sisters of the world.

Now, pick out a dress and put it on. Don't you think that neckline is a bit too girlish? Well, of course you're not "old," that's not even in the question. Mature. You're a wise, mature, beautiful woman of the world who should really eliminate the word Pucci from her vocabulary, as it might come off as a tad youthful for someone whose neck is beginning to look a little crepey.

Wait. Put your bathrobe back on, and settle down. Just settle down. Breathe. It's imperative that you regulate your breathing-you're hyperventilating like a Labrador retriever. For God's sake, will you chill? All we said was "a little crepey," it's not like a huge global tragedy-get a sense of perspective! There are children starving in Africa, and you're throwing this huge hissy fit because your neck looks like a turkey's?

Maybe you should take a moment to reflect on what you're doing with your life, because frankly? You're obviously a really unhappy person. Call us when you come back down to earth and can act like a human being. We love you, but this is abusive and crazy.

© 2006 Turquoise Taylor Grant

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Turquoise Taylor Grant is a writer living in Southern California, a position which she realizes places her very low on the ladder of "glamour" jobs but darn, if she isn't still giving it a go. She lives on a 45-foot sailboat with her boyfriend and lots of footwear impractical for life at sea.

DISCLAIMER: This is a parody of women's magazines so don't come crying to us if you starved to death on one of our diets or you took out your liver by mistake. Unless otherwise noted all material © 2000 - 2018 Sharon Grehan-Howes ( aka Sharon Jeffcock ) Happy Woman Magazine All Rights Reserved