Just Call Me Cinderella

I could only look down and smile in a half-amused look as I took in the sight of my own self. I had milk replacer powder smudged on my jeans and liberally dusted on my arms, my right leg was soaking wet where I accidentally spilled a bucket of water against me, there was cow slobber on the hem of my tee shirt, bits of alfalfa hay sprinkled on my left shoulder where the flake had been hoisted, I was hot, sweaty, tired, and I could only imagine what my hair must look like. It was just past 10pm, there was no more sunlight to speak of, I was working by the light of a dimming headlamp, and I had just finished doing almost 2 hours of barn chores. It was in that fleeting moment, I couldn't help but give a little sigh... The clock struck 12 'o clock for this Cinderella, and her ballgown had been traded in for the grimy clothes of daily life. 

It was the evening of my birthday, and the day had been grand. I got to dress up and go to town with the family for the afternoon. Just the simple fact of getting to change into nice clothes is a treat for me. It's a luxury I rarely allow myself since I'm always outside working and getting dirty. My sixteen year old sister even did my hair for me; twisting it up into a messy bun with a braid on the side (I will never figure out why I can't seem to do a messy bun on myself... How hard can it be to make something like that???). As a "thank you" I stole her favorite shirt from her closet for the day; it was a teal blue Aeropostale tee shirt, and I have a sneaking fondness for it. When I was ready to leave, I could have passed as a regular city girl. Far cry from the usual jeans/tee shirt combo I usually wear that inevitably has dirt on it and some rips here and there. It was a nice change getting to be clean and decent looking for almost a whole day. Very nice... 

The day slipped into evening, and then as the clock crept closer to 8:30pm, I knew I was running out of time; I could hear the cows all bellowing for me. it was time to pull my grimy work jeans out of the hamper (because I'd accidentally thrown them in there earlier), and find a different tee shirt. It's like switching worlds almost; I get a taste of my sisters' world where they can literally pick out ONE outfit for the day and they can stay in that; shucks, they can even wear those namebrand clothes that I save for Sundays or special occasions. My world involves something to wear for milking chores, and then something equally durable to wear during the day that can handle impromptu sprees of hauling 80 lbs. of water up a hill over rough ground; oh and I usually have to do that 80 lb. haul three times in a row just to get water to all the stock. I'm so glad that they don't make 6-gallon buckets...

To say that switching from one world to another is a shock, would be an understatement. It's not necessarily a bad thing; some days I'm glad to be back to my work jeans, but it can take a couple minutes to mentally switch over to work mode. I didn't give Emily's shirt back willingly, but she sure wasn't going to let me wear it to the barn for fear that I'd kill it, like I've done to so many other shirts. By the time I was done with evening barn chores, I was an out and out wreck. A small laugh escaped me as I mentally compared myself to what I looked like earlier in the day; all that was left to show that I did look decent once upon a time was the fact that I hadn't let my hair down yet; it was still in the messy bun that my sister copied from Pinterest.

While hauling water up to the stock, I was going completely by memory as to their location since my light couldn't reach more than a few feet in front of me. As soon as I got the buckets into their paddocks, I turned around and ran back down to get the next pair of buckets; having to trust my instincts and pathetic light to keep me from twisting an ankle in the dusky night. This dirty, achingly physical world is so totally mine. I can be like Cinderella and occasionally change worlds for a fleeting few hours, but both she and I eventually have to face the fact that there's work waiting for us at the end of the day. She's got her dishes to wash while singing along with mice, and I've got my milking equipment to wash while hollering at my dog through a glass window to leave my boots on the porch where they belong. Eh, it's close enough to Disney; I'd rather have the dog than the mice anyway. Even if he does chew up my boots...

When all was said and done, and the hoofstock was bunked down for the night, I was so tired that I was shaking. I couldn't remember what it felt like earlier to be clean and tidy; all I could feel was dampness and weariness setting into my bones. I went to change into my pajamas before crashing to watch a movie, and as I looked at myself in the mirror I gave one last smirk and snort. Even my hair was a wreck... The messy bun couldn't survive a night of barn chores. The ball was fun, but my carriage has turned back into a pumpkin, and my gown has gone back to work clothes.

Just call me Cinderella.