Last week, I got dressed in a really respectable outfit, with pants, a clean shirt and a cute cardigan ... but only because a new dryer was being delivered and I did not want the delivery men to see me in my fleece sweatpants. I changed back into my pajama bottoms at 12:44 p.m.
Most days, I only get dressed for a few hours, at most, if I'm leaving the house to run errands. Sometimes I get dressed at 5 p.m. so Nathan can pretend his wife spent the day in real clothes. We both know this is a lie.
Sometimes, I wear the same "I'm Running Errands And Want To Look Pretty Outfit" two days in a row. Because, hey, I only wore the outfit for 45 minutes while I was at Target, so it's clean, and why should I expend the energy putting together a new pants-shirt combination?
Sometimes, I wear the same "I'm Running Errands And Want To Look Pretty Outfit" five days in a row. Because I am so shameful. I'm putting this confession in really small font so maybe my mother won't read it. Shh, don't tell her.
p.s. I went to Catholic school for twelve years and wore a uniform five days a week. If you think my aversion to picking out new weekday outfits is pathetic, blame the nuns.
