In case you do not know this, I feel the need to tell you that I go through periods of time where I am a hot mess. Like this morning, for example, as I stumbled bleary eyed to the bathroom. You would have laughed if you had seen my pajamas bottoms stuck mid-thigh. And then pointed and laughed, as I became increasingly frustrated that they would not come off as I tried to get them off with my toe, because I was too sleepy to bend down like a normal person and remove them.
I think you would have disowned me if you saw the episode in the kitchen, as I mashed Maggie some food into a ball, crammed in her steroid pill, and then, while on all fours, tried to coax the cat into eating the ball of cat food and medicine in my hand. As in, I was crawling, and talking to her like I would a small child, begging with her that I had to get to class, and she needed to take it so her leg would stay de-poofed. Yes, I said de-poofed, among a lot of other things to my cat … I’m aware it’s an issue.
I did get her to take it though, and it took forever. At this point, I would also like to make you aware that I do take on too much, and in doing so, I often neglect things like makeup and hair. I look like a twelve-year-old today, my dear. I have my glasses on, with my old hoodie, and workout sneakers. My bangs are pinned back with a misbehaving bobby pin, and the rest of my long hair is curly and flying away. I really do look like I did when I was twelve (except now I have real hips and boobs).
Sorry, but I know that you do love me, despite my hot mess, and if you are the true, one and only Mr. Fabulous, I know that you think the days where I am like this are cute and quirky, instead of embarrassing and awful, because just like me, I know you have them too.