peek-a-boo

No grown woman should ever have to ask herself “is this shirt too see-through for work?” on a near-daily basis, yet here we are.

I spent most of my Saturday morning on the living room floor with a bowl of cereal and a “What Not to Wear” marathon on TLC. I was desperate for something to watch and Saturday mornings are not known for having a wide variety of programming choices, so this seemed like my best bet. It was pretty entertaining (even if I wanted to punch the girls I saw being made over). I tried to apply some of their tips to my own life, paying particular attention to the part when they go through the current wardrobe and throw it all away. It would be fun to be professionally made over, but I don’t think I could handle someone nitpicking every single thing in my closet – I KNOW I dress inappropriately and probably all wrong for my body type, but I try to have fun with it. Which is ironic, given that I strive to not be noticed because people scare me – yet every single aspect of my life and personality basically screams “HELLO! PAY ATTENTION TO ME PLEASE!” in large busty sticker-covered paisley print neon letters.

I make my head hurt.

We leave for San Francisco in 11 days, and I haven’t started packing yet. I’m not quite at the point of freaking out, but it’s getting close – I am so anal retentive about travel that if I’m not fully packed at least a week before I leave, I think the world is going to end. Yes, I am fully aware that this is incredibly stupid. I chalk it up to excitement – remember, I packed for our move to Vancouver 6 months before we left. I had to unpack my spice rack four times. Excitement is saucy, but I can’t make Sheppard’s Pie without paprika.

Hey, it’s Cinco de Mayo. In the southern US I am routinely mistaken as being of Mexican heritage, so I feel fully justified in celebrating Cinco de Mayo with gusto and extra salsa.  Arriba!

this counts as hiding my tattoos, right

this counts as hiding my tattoos, right

One thought on “peek-a-boo

  1. You are adorable!

    I routinely have similar wardrobe conundrums, wherein I don’t want people seein’ all my biznizz, but at the same time, I have way more inappropriate clothing than is logical or feasible.

    I wish I had an answer to this, too.

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