Have you ever had one of those days where everything seems to go right? You wake up before your alarm goes off, feeling refreshed and awake, and sit there, sunlight streaming into your window, waiting to shut your alarm off. When it goes off, you hop in the shower singing a tune, come out feeling even more alive and refreshed. The perfect outfit awaits you in your closet, with the perfect matching shoes that fit perfectly and don't pinch your toes. Your bra matches your panties and looks like something off of the Victoria's Secret runway. You go to do your hair and it dries perfectly and sits just where you want it to. You get into your car to drive to work and traffic just seems to part to you let you through . . . ever have one of those days?
Nope, me neither.
Most days the alarm goes off and I jump. Then I smack the snooze button and roll over for another 8 minutes of sleep. Another alarm, another snooze. Finally, a mere 16 minutes after the first alarm, I stumble to the bathroom for a shower. About 1/2 way through my normal shower routine, I come to, realizing that I'm actually standing in the shower, covered in soap and need to finish up and get out. Sometimes I doze back off until I'm done washing my hair.
These days, it is less about finding the perfect outfit and more about finding an outfit that still fits with pieces that all match. My days of cute suits are slowly sliding away from me, as the ones from a few years ago are becomming very tattered and the ones they are making these days are ugly. period. Seriously, who wears that crap?
Some days I want to just crawl back into bed. I leave the house feeling frumpy and downtrodden. My hair pulled back in a scrunchie, because I just don't care to spend the time on it; wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a jacket tossed over it, hoping that no prospective clients decide to stop in and say hi. I intend to hide in my office. Those days I'm lucky if my bra and panties are made by the same company, let alone the same color or style. Those days, I'm lucky I find shoes other than flip flops or sneakers to wear, and hope that I haven't tossed them in the trash by noon because they hurt my feet. Those days are "Granny panty" days and clearly outnumber the other days. That's not to suggest I wear anything other than thongs, not that you care what I wear, but let's not let it ever be said that I wear "granny panties")
But then there are some days, I call them "thongs." Those are the days where I at least wake up hopeful that there will be something in my closet that will enable me to look "cute." Sometimes, it's not even a full day. Sometimes it's an evening out with Rob, for a concert or dinner, or something. I shower and get dressed hoping that the jeans make my ass look as good as they feel going on. I dig through my "unmentionables" drawer in search of the polka-dot panties that match the bra and hope both halves are clean. I troll my closet for the perfect "hootchie momma" top and put it all together with some killer heels. And hope. I hope that it all matches. I hope that I look cute. I hope that my hair, which has agreed to at least sort of look the way I want it to, will hold up under the sweat and smoke and beer that we will surely encounter. I hope that Rob will find me attractive or sexy (maybe even "cute"?). I hope that by the time we get home, I will still have the energy to be seductive, and that I won't just want to fall into bed and sleep.
I hope I start to have more "thong" days again.
...and then my blue pen explodes all over, on the day I'm wearing a white suit. Foiled again.
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