Once I refused to go to computer programming class because my friend and I were wearing the exact same sweatshirt and the idea of sitting there, matching, was incomprehensibly wrong.
Maybe I didn’t care so much about what I looked like, and I was just looking for reasons to skip classes. Hmmm.
Anyway, back in the day, I was fairly aware of my appearance. I wasn’t a fashion plate by any stretch. But there were certain lines I would not cross.
Clean clothes each day.
At least one shower each day.
Hair and makeup (not GOOD hair and makeup – but presentable) before venturing out in public.
Then I had kids.
And the rules loosened a tad.
Clean clothes could not be guaranteed. But they were still a goal.
Then I started working at home.
And the rules loosened a tad more.
That shower? Yeah, sometimes that happens around 4 in the afternoon.
Sometimes that doesn’t happen at all. Sigh.
There are days (infrequent, but they happen) when it is 2PM and I have to walk the dog and I am STILL in my pajamas. I am the crazy lady in her pajamas at 2PM.
But then yesterday…oh yesterday…I went where I have not gone before. I fear that I have fallen off of a precipice of social propriety and I might not be able to get back.
I had to drive Sprout to school. And when I drive children to school I do not get dressed. So I had on fuzzy leopard-print pajamas, slippers, and my coat.
As we pulled out of the driveway, I realized the fuel light was on. Had been since the evening before. Crap.
My brain quickly attempted to strategize (to the extent that my pajama-clad brain is able to at 7AM – not prime strategizing hours.)
I could run back inside and change. No, then Sprout would be late.
I could drop her off, come home, change and then go back for gas. No, the light had been on for a little while, no guarantee I could get that far.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
So, I dropped her off. And there across the street was an enormous Wawa.
All those gas pumps.
All those people. In actual clothes.
I stared HARD at the gas gauge – willing it to do some cartoon-worthy sproooingg back into the green. But no. Red. So very red.
It’s about 5 miles home. I could make it 5 miles, right?
But then I thought – walking 5 miles (or part of 5 miles) up a major highway in my pajamas and THEN walking into a gas station would probably be significantly worse than just doing the gas station part. Probably.
So I did it. I drove over to the Wawa. I parked on the very end (so I wasn’t actually standing NEXT to someone, although it did make me more visible to any and all passing traffic.) And then I GOT OUT OF MY CAR IN A PUBLIC PLACE IN MY PAJAMAS.
YES I DID!!
I chanted in my head “I don’t notice what anyone else here is wearing, so they aren’t noticing me.” Although the reason I wasn’t noticing anyone was that I was putting great effort into hiding – while pumping the tiniest amount of gas possible so I could get the heck out of there.
I jumped back in the car and headed back home and went about my day as if nothing earth-shatteringly wrong had happened. But OMG – that was a line I really didn’t expect to cross. Like, ever.
And can I just tell you that flashing through my head all day was: Is this the road that leads you to walking naked into a Walmart looking for some socks? Because I so don’t want to end up THERE.
So. Today. I got in the car to drive her again. And the light was on – AGAIN! (Because I had only put in a couple of gallons yesterday in my haste to be back in pajama-appropriate territory.) But guess what. This morning (and probably every other morning until the scarring subsides), I put on CLOTHES before we went anywhere!