As if having three dogs that I've essentially turned into my children wasn't bad enough . . .
This morning I left the house in my velour tracksuit (the midnight blue one). When I looked down, I did notice some stain-ish going on--probably dog related. Anyway, I told myself it wasn't that bad and who the crap cares anyway? So then I just proceeded on my merry way.
By the time I made it to my car, I was second-guessing my decision to go as myself, i.e. someone who's comfortable wearing velour tracksuits with dog slobber on them in public. Here were my thoughts.
1. You should have gone back in the house and cleaned up.
2. On the other hand, you've never been much of a natural groomer.
3. Remember that time in Price's Ice Cream Parlor in Provo when your dad took you to get a sundae after watching "Island of the Blue Dolphins" and he took your hand and looked at it and asked you why you wrote stuff in blue ink all over yourself?
4. Dad was a good personal groomer.
5. Even when he was elderly he took pride in his personal appearance.
6. So why didn't you get the damn pride gene?
7. And you realize, of course, you'll only get sloppier as you age--showing up in public with dried egg yolk on your velour jackets, etc.
8. UNLESS!
9. You stage an intervention with yourself.
10. STAT.
Goal for 2019: Give a crap about my appearance.
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I came home from church today eager to remove all of my sausage casings. I went into my bedroom and tried to unzip my sheath dress, only to find that I had never zipped it up the last six inches. Fortunately, I had selected it that morning specifically so I could wear a wool shawl. I mean, one of the great things about being a woman is occasionally getting away with wearing a blanket to church. A blanket which, fortunately, covers little oversights like failing to finish zipping up your dress.
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