Karma’s Still in Hair & Makeup
So, Shorty — it’s your birthday. Sixty years old and somehow still here, still slightly unhinged, still wondering how I managed to outlive both my self-respect and mom-jeans.
They say you mellow with age. I say you just stop wasting energy explaining your chaos. The unhinged part of me isn’t gone — she just upgraded her vocabulary and her skincare. She’s still there, eye-rolling through the highlight reel of men, mistakes, and moral hangovers.
I’ve been discarded like expired milk more times than I can count — but somehow, I keep pouring myself back into the glass. Betrayal. Humiliation. The kind of shame that keeps you up at night re-arguing every breakup in the shower. I didn’t survive it; I maintained. Survival sounds noble. Maintaining sounds accurate.
I didn’t climb out of the wreckage radiant and renewed. I crawled out, mascara in my mouth, mumbling “never again” like it was prayer and a punchline.
And the thing about betrayal? It teaches you patience. Because waiting for Karma is basically a full-time job with no benefits. I used to picture her, “Karma”— glittery heels, maybe a tiara and clipboard planning how to best serve them. She’s running late, she’s flaky — probably sipping a margarita while scrolling Instagram instead of serving justice.
While waiting I would spend some nights laying awake envisioning how I wanted to take out a full-page ad in the local paper:
“PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: SOME PEOPLE ARE TRASH. CONSIDER THIS RECYCLING DAY.”
But I didn’t. I just kept moving. Barely. Slowly. Bitterly. But forward.
That’s what the Mini-Marriage Club is for — not to glorify failure, but to laugh at the audacity of it all. To remind every bruised heart that healing doesn’t always look like enlightenment; sometimes it looks like sarcasm in lipstick needing a retouch.
Therapy didn’t fix me. Blogging did. Time did — but only because I ran out of energy to stay angry. I’ve learned while waiting: humor isn’t denial — it’s rebellion. It’s proof the story didn’t end where they left you.
So yeah, sixty looks good on me. Slightly dented, perfectly unstable, and gloriously unbothered. Karma’s still in hair and makeup, she’s running late, but trust me — she’ll show up. I’ll be ready — freshly lip-glossed, middle-finger manicured, and already writing a blog about it. I’ll have the coffee on … and start saving for my facelift until then.
#minimarriageclub
