19th Century Floozies & Other Tales

People consistently tell me I'm very fashionable.  Usually they sort of snarl it in playful detestation, like, "Oh gooosh! I hate you! Guuuurl...." 

Here's the truth....

My socks never match.
That haze in the photo is my belly.
I chose to stand on this flower because the other one had a hairball on it.  I haven't picked it up yet.
Speaking of hair... mine is falling out in hand fulls. Not baby handfuls.
I lost my mascara... I put it in my diaper bag and the bag ate it!!  No seriously...
Well, wherever my mascara went, it isn't on my face. Ever.

This morning after nursing my baby, I went to get dressed for the gym.  When I saw myself in the mirror I had flashbacks of those black and white "old time" photographs we all took in high school... where you dressed up like a loose Western bar maid (aka prostitute) and acted drunk with a rifle on your hip.  (That was one of the most risque moments of my high school career... definitely the closest I ever got to sex.)  I looked just like that!  My hair and long necklace had been pulled lopsided by baby's busy hands, my bra was hanging out, my shirt was half buttoned, my face was a wreck, and I had a string cheese stick (breakfast) halfway in my mouth like a cigar.

This is my life.  At least its amusing.

Cheers,
The KawaMama