This article in the Guardian was bought to my attention earlier:
Oh how much do I want that woman to walk a mile in my shoes right now! I am one of the women who has let herself go. I wear crocs or birkies and my toes are usually unpainted (they are currently violet doe to a fit of boredom). My hair is scraped back into a "rolly rolly" or messy bun. I don't wear make up and I rarely moisturise. If I have a shower before the school run then it is A Good Day as far as I am concerned. Occasionally I realise I haven't brushed my hair for 2 or even [gasp] 3 days!
But do you know what, SO WHAT! I have 2 demanding children, 1 psychotic cat, 2 escapee rabbits and a husband. Not to mention the house that breeds dust and clutter like no mans business. Who gives a stuff if you don't like what I am wearing, who gives a stuff if you don't like the fact I am not wearing make up. Maybe I think you look daft made up to the nines for the school run, or that you look too intimidating to be a friend.
Has she even considered that maybe, just maybe there may be deeper reasons behind things? For me I find it very hard to take an interest in making myself look pretty, I hate how I look and although I am slightly better at dealing with that now it is still a problem. I can fill an A4 sheet with what I hate about myself, in fact there is very little I like so why bother making an effort, it does no ruddy good! I would rather look like a Pig than a Pig in drag frankly!
So oh writer of that ruddy article, stick that in your pipe and smoke it (I may, or may not be making rude gestures at my computer monitor on writing this...).