After a crap night of sleep, I rolled out of bed, with just enough time to get clothes on for yoga, dress the Kaiser and haul ass out the door. I was proud of myself for putting on pink yoga pants with a dark pink sweater and looking rather cute in spite of the no time to get ready. Nails bitten off (thanks to Project Clustertrauma (which I will get into a later date)). Hair in a ponytail. No makeup. Shoved some toothpaste in my mouth and we were off.

Met Scout for lunch at a Japanese place in a strip mall (hee! I said “strip”!) by our house. Innocuous looking hole in the wall.

We were seated by a group of four women who looked like they’d stepped out of a glossy advertisement for “Dress as a successful business person, and do it (hee! I said “do it”!) with style!”

All were dressed in black or gray with accents of color. All had good hair styled by products other than a pillow and a bad night of sleep. All wore business appropriate CFM* heels. Perfect (expensive) handbags held by hands with professional french manis, natch.

Ugh. For all my new found confidence, I finally had to admit that I felt envious. For a moment I wanted so much to have a reason to get dressed up in heels and a tailored outfit. I wanted perfect hair and nails.

And then I went back to cheering at Alex and being excited that he was reaching onto my plate for broccoli, onion, mushroom and red pepper. Cuz that’s what we do. Feel the twinge of envy, look at the greener grass on the other side and then look at the flowers in our lawn.


*CFM = Come Fuck Me