Have you ever had a "fat day"?
A day when nothing fits right, nothing looks right, so, in desperation you throw on whatever has been shoved to the depths of your closet? You end up at work wearing a sweater that has "fuzzed" all over your chair, desk and co-workers and a pair of old cords that make awful "swish, swish" noises when you're walking down the hall, sparks flying from the friction of your thighs?
To add to the faulty fashion faux pau that is corderoy pants, I have bags under my eyes that heroine junkies would be jealous of and my cheeks are semi-permanently rubbed a delightful shade of "influenza red" due to a late night with the dear hubby...
Not that minded the late night grope-a-thon, but this morning, by the light of day, I just kept thinking (while smearing on concealer under my puny eyes) - why couldn't we have just waited until tonight when the idea of sleeping in followed by a repeat of the previous night's performance would have been a potential possibility?!
It's official, then. I'm old.
At 26 I am quite possibly the oldest twenty-something gal out there. Wanna know what I did the other night for "fun"? I watched the end of a Lifetime Movie of the Week.
The last nails in my coffin of youth?
When I rush home from work to catch Matlock on TBS.
When Tapioca pudding starts to taste good.
When Ben Gay starts to be useful.
When going five miles over the speed limit seems dangerous.
When I start clipping coupons.
When I willing purchase a cardigan with animals knitted on it.
When I start to sleep under an electric blanket... in July.
When four PM is dinner time.
And, finally, when I start dressing a 20lb stone duck that sits outside of my house in seasonal attire.
Until I meet the aforementioned criteria, I will just consider myself "wise beyond my years." Now, pass me my Ensure, please.