A No-Frills Existence

I readily admit that I've never been a snappy dresser.

Sure, I gave it the old college (well, high school) try back in the day. I mimicked my classmates, wearing what we called "elephant pants," huge bellbottoms with about 5 extra yards of material in them. They were hip-huggers, and I wore mine with a series of body suits that snapped at the crotch. (Not terribly convenient when one had to "wee" in a hurry.)

When I started working in an office, I wore dresses and skirts with pantyhose. (In those days it was unthinkable not to wear hosiery.) I did my best to dress like an adult, but there were still days when Judie would give me the Judie look and say, "Barb, brush your hair."

I just wasn't that into myself. 

Things went from not-so-bad to really bad when I began working from home. 

My first attire of the day is workout pants, white socks, black athletic shoes and a bright blue wicking (not wicked, alas) workout shirt. I admittedly have ventured outdoors in this get-up, but only to take out the garbage cans or retrieve the empties. No one is out at that time of day – except for Mr. S., who takes his daily constitutional about that time. Fortunately, he's too polite to question my choice of wardrobe or ask what in god's name possessed me to step outside the house looking like that.

Before reporting to work, I don sweat pants or pajama bottoms and a t-shirt or sweatshirt. If I'm going to be on a conference call, I will wear the obligatory company t-shirt to self-identify. I'll also brush my hair and make sure I'm holstered. 

Do I neglect my feet? Why, no I don't. I slip into my ever-faithful fuzzy slippers, featuring some sort of animal I haven't quite identified. (Sheep? Llama? Hedgehog?) I took a snap of them so you can decide for yourselves.

I figure the only person who sees me is Mr. Ginley, and while he may find my lack of attention to my appearance disturbing, he is generally too kind to say anything. 

None of this would matter much, except that I do occasionally have to dress up in my big girl pants which, unfortunately, have shrunk since I gave a shit what I looked like. Soon, I will have to buy at least a few new pairs of pants that fit. 

Also, it's about time for me to get my hair cut so I don't look like I've been coiffed by a Mixmaster.

Somewhere in the ether, my mother is face-palming. She'd never think of leaving the house without putting on lipstick, brushing her hair and changing into a clean shirt.

I guess this apple fell pretty far from the tree. 

On the plus side, think of all the money we save on beauty products.

You're welcome, Mr. Ginley.