It takes a lot of work to get me to look Instagram-filter beautiful.

Faux everything is involved – hair, eyelashes, figure. You name it, and I need it.

I imagine a drag queen doesn’t have to work as hard as I do to look like a flawless woman. Heck, I know drag queens don’t have to work as hard. Have you seen RuPaul’s legs?! Stunningly gorgeous! Ahh, to have those legs.

Plucking, shaving, clipping, painting – it is like an ultimate makeover, home edition.

Spray foundation to cover up mosquito bite scars on my legs. Fake eyelashes that are black and voluminous augment my light-colored, spiky fringe.

My hair alone can easily take up to an hour to properly remove all frizz, then curl, hairspray, and pin. My arms get tired quickly because pressing and curling hair that grows past the middle of my back isn’t a chore; It is a quest. I never know what will go wrong with each attempt to tame the mane.

Then, there is the body shaper undergarment, which requires a lot of wiggling to get into. Good thing Handsome is not in the room as I bounce about trying to get the stupid thing on, reminding myself to try and breathe normally once it is in place.

At some point, usually due to time, I have to stop. The nails don’t get polished or hair extensions left at home. Because, really, two hours should be plenty of time, and we had a dinner reservation for 7 pm.

(After two hours of getting ready)…Away we go for a delicious dinner in a dimly lit restaurant. At that level of illumination, I could have worn a stockpot over my head and no one would have noticed.

So when I arrived downstairs, all freshly spackled, I had high hopes for a response. Spontaneous applause and loud cheering do not seem out of line for this level of work.

Handsome didn’t even look at me, not even registering my presence.

I moved to stand in front of him.

He can’t miss me now, I thought as I struck a pose with hands out in obvious expectation.

He looked at my face and clued into my waiting anticipation. (He’s a smart one.)

“Nice,” he said with a smile.

The smile does it. Deflated a smidge but not disappointed, I proudly proclaimed, “I am ready.”

And away we went for a delicious dinner in a dimly lit restaurant.

At that level of illumination, I could have worn a stockpot over my head, and no one would have noticed.