I’m feeling pretty darn good about myself. I’m happy, getting really healthy, and thinking I look pretty darned good. BAM!
I pulled on the skinny jeans, the grey wife-beater, and the cool tie-died long-sleeved t-shirt I bought in Chicago from Nordstrom. My hair is looking good, the face is working. I’ve been to Target, to the grocery store, and various other places. I walked into the bakery to buy goodies for tomorrow and as I stood in line a very nice woman said, “excuse me Miss, your tags are still on your jeans.”
I looked down and not only was the one tag hanging but the five-inch long sticky tag that tells the brand and the size ran all the way down the back of my thigh. Oy Vey! This didn’t embarrass me too much. I just reached down and pulled it off and said, “oh well, at least you didn’t tell me my jeans were split.” People behind me just kind of smiled. What are ya gonna do?
The Universe also reaches up with gravity when I am feeling truly cocky. It’s at these times when I’m positive I’m hot and sexy and sophisticated that I trip, or flat fall. Nothing says cool and sexy like landing on your rear end on the ground.
I maintain that my coolness is in my goofyness. Because I can be pretty damned goofy. Not caring what others think about that also helps in the coolness factor.
I especially put my goofyness into full gear with my two youngest nieces and my sister. It’s all good because it’s funny. Laughter at one’s self is a very, very good thing. I plan to go trick-or-treating tomorrow with the entire family. I’m going in my Morticia Addams costume.
I will continue down my goofy path, yet still attempt to be cool….and just remember to remove all tags from clothing before I wear it.