I used to mow the grass in cut off Levi 501s and a bikini top. It was an excuse to strut back and forth in the yard and work on my tan. As time wore on those Levis got shorter and shorter but I got older and sassier and cared less and less about what was appropriate. I was mowing my damn grass, right? And wolf whistles happened less and less frequently. I’d take what I could get.
This summer I mowed the grass often just to have a few minutes to myself. The cut off Levis have long since been retired. These days I don’t put a tremendous amount of thought in to what I wear to mow the grass. None of my neighbors (the same neighbors that wave at me daily as I stroll down the street with my dog or run by in the morning with the jogging stroller) are likely to cat call anyway so who might I even try to impress?
But my grass mowing attire was at least Go Out in Public Even If It Is Only To The Gas Station worthy. I would be traipsing back and forth across my yard for thirty minutes. This warrants more care than the Run Down To The End Of The Driveway With The Trash Can Before You Miss The Trash Truck outfit.
And then this happened.
Look carefully. This woman reflected in the side of her car is wearing a velour sweatsuit with the pants pegged so as to not drag along the ground and Crocs. Let me repeat that. I have PEGGED THE LEGS OF MY VELOUR SWEAT PANTS. And I have chosen to wear socks and Crocs. Now I think that some kind of a tool (any kind, really) can elevate a woman’s hotness. But let’s face it. A leaf blower is not much of a tool.
I think I have given up. It has happened.
I remember (as long ago as yesterday when I would not have dreamed of doing this!) looking at women and thinking “what the hell is wrong with you? You have a pulse, for fuck’s sake, brush your hair” and now look at me. What am I doing? Perhaps this has been a lesson in “Judge Not Less Ye Be Judged.”
Granted, I have a terrible cold. My youngest looks like a refugee and is currently wearing a shirt belonging to my oldest and flowered pants. Her baby is being toted around in a towel. I haven’t really made much in the way of dinner in two days and I am running on caffeine and Dayquil. (Speaking of running, I knocked back two slugs of Dayquil this morning, before I left for my run and set a PR for a 5K distance. Not an all time PR, but a since I have been injured PR. Wheee! Bronchodilators for the Win!!)
I am not at my best. I’m not sleeping. Showering is a successful day. I am spent and cranky and not looking for a hot date. But pegged velour sweatpants?
I can do better than that. I can. And I will. You have my word.
I’m a wreck. But my yard looks nice.
So, how are you? Have you caught yourself doing anything mortifying lately?