That Kind Of Girl

I can't remember when I last washed my hair.

I haven't made the bed in 3 days.

I ate peach cobbler with cream sauce for breakfast. Twice.

I've only picked my clothes off the floor to put them back on.

At 3:00 yesterday afternoon I gave some serious thought to opening a bottle of wine. To drink. I reasoned that I'd be going to bed around 7:00 so I was probably actually late, not early.

At 3:30 I opened it.

I never thought I was the kind of girl who only got it together when my man was around. 

I never thought I'd get cellulite either.

I'm definitely that kind of girl.

Hubby's out of town and I'm running amok. Well, I'm too lazy to run anywhere, much less amok, but I am definitely on a downhill slide.

The bathroom trash is overflowing. I've looked at it several times over the past couple days, turned out the light and walked out. 

I started to put dishes in the dishwasher but then Pioneer Woman came on Food Network. 

"I got behind some guy going 30 MPH on the freeway," Hubby used to say. "Poor sap, crawling home as slow as he can." Hubby would shake his head. "Not like me. I can't wait to get home."

If he could see the state of things here, he'd take the wheels off the car and pull it home with his teeth. 

On the backroads. In reverse.

I've always looked down my nose at women who show up at the gym in full makeup. Because, to my mind, they're looking for a man. Yes, I'm bitchy that way. I mean, come on, doesn't feminism promise us that we can be ourselves? Isn't it our guarantee that we can forgo the shallow? Isn't it about our brains, not our beauty?

Ah...not necessarily.

I've decided feminism means a lot of things but it doesn't mean my legs should be hairier than my husbands and I'm just as smart in a really awesome outfit and cute hair. 

It does mean I should make whatever choices I want without prejudice. So, while I'm free to not wash my hair, eat whatever fat ladened food I want, wear smelly, wrinkly jeans, and drink during the day...

My husband is also free to avoid me like the plague.

So, that doesn't work for me. I'm that kind of girl. I'm the ball and chain with great shoes and I want to stay that way.

I guess I'll clean up. Myself, the house. Or, I'll definitely call someone to do it. But, I have till tomorrow...and there's still some wine left.

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This is us. I'm putting a new spin on "till death do us part."

At least I won't have to worry about washing my hair.

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