Plain Jane is exactly what she was. If names given at birth can determine the outcome of someone's life, Jane is an unfortunate name to be saddled with . Her eyes though, seductive pools of honey that shimmered in the sunlight. She didn't like to physically stand out so she dressed in dark colors, simply as she hated attention. Simple compliments from coworkers would make her uncomfortable and squirmy. Red faced, she would force out a thank you and quickly turn on her heel to walk away. That all stemmed from an exchange from a particularly catty associate who, on a day when Jane felt "cute", said through clenched teeth "oh look, you're trying!" After that day, Jane was more comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt at work than a dress unless the occasion called for more professional clothes. 

Jane preferred to wear her hair up in a messy bun, mostly out of necessity. Blessed (?) by her Irish grandfather with thick, wavy (not curly, big difference) hair, it was starting to grey at her temples. Jane wore headphones at work 5 days a week to disappear so, out of habit, she reached for hair ties all through the day. Make up consisted of 24 hour lip color. Her dark eye brows and lashes made eye make up unnecessary and she couldn't be bothered to slather on foundation. Too much time and effort and she wasn't trying to impress anyone. Her husband of 7 years accepted her tomboyishness and gave her solicited compliments whenever she needed it.  She liked her toes painted in the summer due to the flip flops she preferred to wear for any and all occasions. Hands were usually void of jewelry and polish since she loved to retreat to her craft room and get messy with glue. Simple, understated Jane. 

Two years ago, Jane decided to document her simple life on Instagram through daily pictures. Simple to start but sometimes a selfie from bed had to suffice since she either forgot or nothing particularly exciting happened that day. Slowly over time she realized, while flipping through her profile, her life was too calm. BORING. Pics consisted of mainly meals, crafts she had done, pets and her backyard pool. Still she pushed through it, continued it as almost a diary. Yes, this is my lunch. Here is my new puppy. Hey there is my pool! Look, I actually left town and here is proof (shot of the view from an airplane). On and on for 2+ years. 

Selfies were starting to pop up in her feed. Filtered as fuck but it was definitely a way to keep up on her daily Insta-commitment. Her daughter ,Chloe, in her early 20's, followed her photos. Chloe was giving her likes but she wanted Chloe to cherish it just in case something happened to Jane. Jane would've loved to peek into the daily life of her own mother. What was in her purse? What kind of key chains did she have? What color did she like to paint her toes? How did she arrange her plate? These are questions Chloe would never have to wonder about. It was all laid out on Instagram. She just prayed Instagram wouldn't die like Myspace did a decade before. Then, out of nowhere a comment popped up under one of her filtered as fuck selfies.