The September issue of Elle and drugstore happiness ($2.99)

I just finished looking at the September issue of Elle, all 562 pages of "must-have dresses, jeans, jackets, and heels plus the jewelry that goes with everything." I dog-eared the cover article featuring Julia Roberts talking about Eat, Pray, Love for another time, reminded myself I want to read that book, scratch and sniffed Gucci's new fragrance "Guilty" and did a double take on the pictorial of Justin Bieber and Kim Kardashian frolicking in the Bahamas. Their foray was titled "The Graduate" and I immediately wondered if it had been an under aged girl and a well endowed somewhere, twenty-nine year old man and the pictorial was titled "Lolita" if anyone would have a problem with it. Probably not, it's what we've come to as a society. I, for one was a little disgusted and a whole lot looking at every picture. Lord, please help heal my "Bieber Fever" I'm too old for it. After I flipped the last page I quickly decided there wasn't one "must have" that I couldn't live without.

Okay, on page 260 there is an Alexander McQueen, embroidered resin platform heel with a set of angel wings across the top of the foot (price upon request) that I would come close to selling a kidney on the black market for. A guarantee to seal the deal would be if they threw in the Corto Moltedo black satin and feather clutch on the same page, $1,105. Hell yeah! I could live without a kidney, that's why they come in pairs. But, I can and will also live without... the shoes.

Once upon another fabulous, five-inch heel I was a bright lights, big city, little woman-child livin' the life of Riley. Single and on the mingle, no mortgage, no car payment, no preschool tuition, no budget and a fistful of dollars to blow. On a regular basis I was all dressed up and had everywhere to go. And go I did. Been there, done that, all the way to the point of no return, asked for directions and found my way back. Spanx was something that happened to me when I was really good at being bad, not something I wore. I filled my God-hole and lots of other orifices with all the things that money can buy and just-the-right-look-in-your-eye can have handed to you. Sound fabulous? I thought it was. The hindsight reality is...I wasn't very happy.

Fast forward a decade or so and here I sit, corn fields on the left of me and on the right too. I would bet my left tit there's not a chick within a ten mile radius that could apply false lashes, let alone in the back of a San Francisco taxicab. I have a husband, two sons, a mortgage, property taxes, and contribute to a college fund times deux. Spanx still fall into their original category, just sayin'. Last week I was at Walgreens picking up my four-year old's nasal spray and some canned cat food. As I was digging for exact change in my knock-off (Don't judge) handbag I saw a scrap of paper where I'd scrawled "Ivory Fairytale." No, not a fantasy destination, a nail color. Sally Hansen, diamond strength, no chip nail color. I high tailed my tail right back to the cosmetics section. After acquiring the said polish I also made an impulse purchase of a $2.99 lip gloss by Wet n Wild. Turns out that not only is it the absolute perfect summertime-shine-meets-shimmer but it tastes like toffee. Bonus. I applied it in the rear view mirror of my Yukon, licked my lips and smiled. Sometimes, it's the little things.

I will be the first to admit that there's nothing that can suck the hot right out of you quicker than having children. But winter will find me rockin apple-bottom jeans and boots with the fur in my kid's school parking lot. Against my will, in part, it gets really fricken cold here. If function and fashion just happen to collide then I'm gonna call it physics at it's finest and roll with it. I opted for fringy bangs instead of Botox because saving by siphoning off the grocery budget by clipping coupons was just taking too long. Those lines on my forehead are from all the deep thoughts I have a-hole, what's your excuse? Occasionally after a particularly long day I will look into my bathroom mirror and pull the skin around my eyes taut imagining what a little nip/tuck could do. Then I smile as I think about how my first born tells everyone who asks that I am still thirty-two and they believe him. I slide my feet out of their Target flip flops ($9.99) and admire my Sally Hansen home pedicure. It hasn't chipped and I mopped my floors on my hands and knees cause I left my cleaning lady in Cali and she said it's the only way to get them really clean.

Sound fabulous? Maybe not so much if you can afford to not take this trip and therefore haven't arrived. It's not as glamorous as my "hot child in the city" phase but it's also not the maniacal extremes of highs and lows that I called my twenties. I don't need a pair of shoes and a handbag to make me feel whole, anymore. I don't need anything more than I have and the September issue of Elle will not convince me otherwise. If this fact makes me sound like a broke, self righteous bitch then so be it. At least I am a happy bitch.