How the superficial have fallen. Namely, me.

So.  A lot has been going on over here.  We got a puppy.  A little 10 week old boxer.  She's amazing and sooo cute, but I'm too tired from yelling at her to stop biting EVERYONE that I'm not ready to talk about her yet.  But I'm sure you can stay tuned for stories of her eating Ann's poop.  And Ann eating her poop.  And everyone getting worms.  That'll make for a hysterical post.

I also started a french class.  Two, technically.  I started out in a higher level course and dropped down after one very stressful week.  I couldn't follow the class, it was like they were speaking another language. 

Tonight I got to class 'a l'heure'.  That means 'on time'.  I was a bit flustered though; on the way out the door- as I rushed to suck down my veggie chilli- Maggie bit Ann's foot as it dangled (tantalizingly) from her high chair.  She bit it hard, and during all the yelling, crying, and panic that ensued, she also bit Adrian.  And then she peed on the floor.  And then I went to class.

We did a class activity and I got paired with another woman.  She was impeccably dressed with black heels and perfect hair and makeup.  She also had naked legs (in February! The dedication to sex appeal).  Seated next to her, I tried to fix my hair and more prominently display whatever expensive jewelry I had on.  Lately, whenever I find myself in situations with potential new friends like this I want to explain "Hi-I'm-Nora-I-usually-dress-much-better-than-this".
But I've had an epiphany that recently this is untrue.  I reflected on this as I looked down at myself.  I was out of the house with adults, so I was actually in my good jogging pants.  I'm no stranger to joggers, but I used to at least try to wear something flattering 75% of the time (all right.  50%).
Everything else I was wearing was Joe Fresh.  This season's line, because that's the way I roll.  But at least it was joe fresh from pee.  Mostly.  I'd stepped in dog urine on the way out the door and had changed only one of my socks.  I'm lucky if I can make it out of the house without someone else's boogers in my hair (that Adrian, he's so sniffly), so I don't bother to style it.  And lately, my favourite outfits are ones that transition seamlessly from daywear to sleepwear.  And then back to daywear the next morning.  There are weeks when my breasts go days without seeing daylight.  Who needs perky breasts when you can sleep in your bra?

It just so happens that this revelation has come up during an obsession with the video for Sh!t Girls Say.  Consequently:

Sh!t I would've said three years ago:

• "I need to find some heels to go with my new $300 jeans.  My old ones won't match the threading on the pockets."
• "Spaghetti squash is such an amazing substitute for pasta.  I don't even miss it!"
• "It's only too much cleavage if your nipples are showing."

Sh!t I say now:

• "Oooooh... I bet there are leftover Zoodles in the fridge!"
• "Let's hit the park, I'll just put jogging pants on under my nightgown.  Can you throw me your hoodie?"
• "Smell me, do I need to shower?"
• "It's just Boston Pizza, Adrian.  But I guess these jogging pants are a bit snug.  I'll wear yours."
• "Does it smell like I have any dog poop on me?"
• "I straightened it yesterday, I don't need to brush it due to the 'carry-over' effect.  That's the whole point of a short haircut."
• "It's good for your hair follicles to let your armpits express themselves every now and then."
  

While I know that many of you are feeling sorry for Adrian for having to smell check me so often, keep in mind that I am the victim.  It's my dignity that is suffering.  But my resolve weakens every time I get banana on a clean top (and god help you if it's dryclean only...), or when someone is climbing on me as I apply eyeliner, or I get yogurt in my freshly straightened hair.  I lose sight of the point.  The only people that see me are the ones at the pool and the grocery store.  And the liquor store. 


Anyways, at class these days all I can do is hope that this very well-dressed person will look past the boogers in my hair to the narcissistic friend underneath who wants to know where she got her shoes.