Glamorous

I know that I always look glamorous as hell… in my yoga pants (that hopefully don’t, but probably do, have food crusted to them or milk spilled on them) and old t-shirt (which most likely has chocolate finger prints on it, thanks to a granola bar that I fed my grubby little kid…with the name of an organization scrolled across the front/back of it that I once volunteered/worked for, proving at one point in my life I really did have my sh*t together) and my (not so) flawless complexion which doesn’t even need (but could really use) a fresh application of makeup (which I never wear… like ever… even before I had a kid or two to tote around… because it’s just not my thing) and my hair up in a perfect ponytail/bun (and by perfect, I mean it’s a hot freaking mess… because fine and thin hair doesn’t stay in place when you are wrestling toddlers to the ground as you calmly explain why they need to wear pants in public… as they continue to struggle and wiggle like a snake, acting as if wearing those pants will cause their legs to fall off). ┬áSo… I mean… it’s pretty hard to nail this look… but I do it daily… like a boss.

You’re welcome world!

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