As I walked across the street today in the biting wind and blowing snow flurries to pick up my lunch at Smokey Row (a BLT on wheat, cottage cheese and a cockle-warming Spiced Chai Tea), I made two discoveries: 1) I am officially style-less. 2) I love Smokey Row.

Let's address Discovery 1 first, shall we?

I coughed all night long. At some point in the middle of the night, I decided to get up and take a steamy shower, hoping the steam would aid my breathing efforts. Instead of aiding my breathing efforts, the shower only succeeded in causing me to have bag-lady hair when I got out of bed this morning. One side of my bangs have adhered themselves flatly to my head and refuse to detach. The other side has chosen to defy gravity and stand at military attention, doing their best to point others towards Heaven. It is quite lovely.

My brand new maternity jeans must have shrunk in the wash, because I swear they finished BELOW my ankles and not three inches above my ankles when I tried them on in the store this weekend. Either that, or Target has some incredible lengthening mirrors in their dressing rooms.

All of my black, blue and otherwise non-attention grabbing socks were in the laundry this morning, so in a fit of desperation I pulled on some bright, white, HELLO-THERE socks which gleefully pull attention to my three-inch-too-short-jeans.

None of these factors would normally affect me, because usually after I dress I have to leave my bedroom and walk past the approving or disapproving eyes of my teenage daughter who never hesitates to ask incredulously, "Are you seriously wearing that today?" Usually, I mentally recap what I am wearing, and after deciding there is NOTHING WRONG with my outfit, I state very plainly, "Yes," and continue with my day. However, I PRAY that if she had said that to me this morning, I would have stopped what I was doing and changed my clothes.

Today, however, none of that occurred. Today, Kimmie had no school. Today, my wonderful husband who works night shift and came home at 3:00 in the morning, who saw me downstairs hacking up a lung at 4:45 this morning, who realized I did not fall asleep until 6:00 this morning, very thoughtfully assumed that I would not be going to work today, and he TURNED OFF MY ALARM CLOCK which was set for 7:00 AM.

At 8:15, Liberty's baby monitor woke me up.

We normally leave the house at 8:00.

After calling Chris and Craig to let them know that Liberty and I would be late, I grabbed the nearest outfit, frowned at my hair, skipped the makeup, and ran out the door with Liberty bouncing along. No teen-aged voice of reason (did I really say that?) halted my mad rush out the door in short jeans, white socks, and gravity-defying hair. The only part of my ensemble of which I am not ashamed is my beautiful green shirt.

And you are not going to believe this...or maybe you will, but while I one-handedly typed that last sentence, a juicy tomato fell out of my BLT, leaving a triple-bounced trail of stains down the middle of the fabric covering my pregnant belly. There goes my lovely green shirt. Should I be reading up on "Pride goeth before a fall?"

What can I say: I'm style-less.

My second discovery was much more pleasant. I discovered another reason to love Smokey Row. When I entered their casually eclectic establishment to pick up my shirt staining BLT, I noticed signs posted that read, "Smokey Row is hosting a WINTER PROTEST," and the workers were all sporting brightly colored shirts and Hawaiian leis.

Now that's my kind of protest!

And seriously, all I really need is a lei to cover my stains and draw attention away from my hair and socks.
3 Responses
  1. Anonymous Says:

    Missy! Return those jeans. Demand your money back because they fit and now they make you look like you are stuck in what I call "perpetual-awkward-stage." (I used to work at JCPenney and people returned things all the time for the item shrinking in the wash.) A woman needs jeans that fit. So return them. And, with the new pair, go on the safe side and drip-dry them.

  2. Don't worry, Missy. I have at least one coffee stain on every single item of clothing I own.

  3. Now, that's a bad day! I hope you feel better soon!

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