It's all about priorities
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Let me paint a picture of loveliness for you.
Imagine, if you can, a tall woman with long, brownish-blondish hair. Her weight is undetermined at this time, due to her inability to actually face the number on the scale. She lives a good life, and does not want for food. While she currently reminds one of a slightly chubbier version of her best self, she manages to still be attractive to her husband. (Or so he says).
She resembles a fairly functional member of society during the hours of 10 a.m. and 10 p.m. She showers, suffers under the blow dryer for 20 minutes, wears lipstick, and tries her best to put outfits together that do not include the words "yoga" or "stretchy pants."
But the first time each day that she ventures out of the house is a completely different story.
She. is. one. hot. mess.
Here is an artist's rendering of this anonymous woman:
She leaves the house each day at 5:40 in the a.m. to drive her son to his early morning religion class. She literally rolls out of bed at 5:39, slips on her Uggs, grabs a coat and her glasses, and heads out the door.
In her mind, she sort of likes to imagine that she looks a little like these ladies:
Tragically, in her heart of hearts, she knows that she does not. She owns this look and is not swayed when her children mock or laugh. This is a perfectly acceptable look for the unholy crack of dawn, peek-a-boo pudge, notwithstanding.
She is at peace with her fine self.
The sight that greets this hottie outside of her bedroom door has recently morphed from a tired, grumbly teenager, to this:
A happy little ball of sunshine and energy that is shaking keys in her face and begging to drive her vehicle.
THAT experience is a whole blog post unto itself. But let's just say that two words sum up the palpable emotions in the car: JOY and TERROR.
You can guess who experiences which.
On a particularly average morning, like today, for instance, this woman finds herself in a wee bit of a predicament. For, when her son exits the vehicle on the driver's side, she is faced with two choices: Get out in the freezing cold air and walk around to the driver's side, or climb over the console in the middle and stay warm.
She opted on this fine morning to choose the latter. And as she was maneuvering herchubby not-so-slim-self over the console, her boot got caught on something and she tumbled rather quickly, ending with a very ungraceful face plant against the glass of the window.
Gathering herself together as best she could, the thought crossed her mind that, "Phew. Thank goodness nobody saw THAT."
Well.
Clearly, the universe does have the best sense of humor. This poor tangle of a mess looked out her window to see the eager, and frighteningly made-up faces of Malibu Barbie and her sister, Skipper, as they were out for their morning run.
Embarrassed, she waved off their lipsticked offers of help, and pulled herself together as best she could. And instead of feeling bad about herself for not looking that good, let alone being out jogging at five-freaking-thirty in the morning with full make-up on, she took her bruised face dignifiedly home, and crawled back into bed.
Like any normal human being should.
Imagine, if you can, a tall woman with long, brownish-blondish hair. Her weight is undetermined at this time, due to her inability to actually face the number on the scale. She lives a good life, and does not want for food. While she currently reminds one of a slightly chubbier version of her best self, she manages to still be attractive to her husband. (Or so he says).
She resembles a fairly functional member of society during the hours of 10 a.m. and 10 p.m. She showers, suffers under the blow dryer for 20 minutes, wears lipstick, and tries her best to put outfits together that do not include the words "yoga" or "stretchy pants."
But the first time each day that she ventures out of the house is a completely different story.
She. is. one. hot. mess.
Here is an artist's rendering of this anonymous woman:
She leaves the house each day at 5:40 in the a.m. to drive her son to his early morning religion class. She literally rolls out of bed at 5:39, slips on her Uggs, grabs a coat and her glasses, and heads out the door.
In her mind, she sort of likes to imagine that she looks a little like these ladies:
image via
Tragically, in her heart of hearts, she knows that she does not. She owns this look and is not swayed when her children mock or laugh. This is a perfectly acceptable look for the unholy crack of dawn, peek-a-boo pudge, notwithstanding.
She is at peace with her fine self.
The sight that greets this hottie outside of her bedroom door has recently morphed from a tired, grumbly teenager, to this:
A happy little ball of sunshine and energy that is shaking keys in her face and begging to drive her vehicle.
THAT experience is a whole blog post unto itself. But let's just say that two words sum up the palpable emotions in the car: JOY and TERROR.
You can guess who experiences which.
On a particularly average morning, like today, for instance, this woman finds herself in a wee bit of a predicament. For, when her son exits the vehicle on the driver's side, she is faced with two choices: Get out in the freezing cold air and walk around to the driver's side, or climb over the console in the middle and stay warm.
She opted on this fine morning to choose the latter. And as she was maneuvering her
Gathering herself together as best she could, the thought crossed her mind that, "Phew. Thank goodness nobody saw THAT."
Well.
Clearly, the universe does have the best sense of humor. This poor tangle of a mess looked out her window to see the eager, and frighteningly made-up faces of Malibu Barbie and her sister, Skipper, as they were out for their morning run.
image via
Embarrassed, she waved off their lipsticked offers of help, and pulled herself together as best she could. And instead of feeling bad about herself for not looking that good, let alone being out jogging at five-freaking-thirty in the morning with full make-up on, she took her bruised face dignifiedly home, and crawled back into bed.
Like any normal human being should.
