Listen. We all know one of those women who always looks beautifully turned out. Hair in place, neat makeup, lipstick always on, outfit matching and neat and clean and not an elastic waistband to be seen. That is the type of woman I am aspiring to be for at least a week. Problem is, women like that wouldn't dream of leaving the house in, say, grey paint-splattered yoga pants under a cherry-patterned nightgown, a fleece half-zip pullover and tan shearling boots with no socks. With wet hair in a half-assed bun. Like I did last night, when, after showering and performing nighttime ablutions, I realized AJ needed money put on his bus card for the next day. Naturally, I managed to time it so I was at the card machine just as the 10:30 pm Irving Park bus unloaded two dozen riders transferring to the Blue Line. Hello, Chicagoans! Why no, I'm not wearing a bra! Yes, that is a nightgown! That white clot at the corner of my mouth may or may not be toothpaste! Of course I remember you from 9th grade biology...how nice to see you again!
I am debating whether or not that little escapade counts against my goal for the week. It was late! And dark! And...late!
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