Now I have never been able to understand the people who clutch their pearls and kvetch about how they can't understand how people can leave the house without flea dip, shellack, and clothing of the non-denim persuasion. I make sure I am clean and have no giant holes in the ass of my jeans and I'm pretty much good to go. This next bit? It's pretty much a chance for the pearl-clutchers to say "I told you so" after they recover from their dead faint.

Leah was dawdling this morning, as she tends to do, and whining, as she also tends to do. I had overslept a little, so I figured on taking a shower after I dropped her off and just going in to work a little late. I threw on some clothes, fought Leah into her coat, and ran out the door. Locking the outside door behind me, from force of habit.

I am now at work in jeans, sneakers, a pajama top, and a Hard Rock sweatshirt. No socks. No bra. And hair that is swiftly on the decline from "just enough oil to hold a style" to "oh mah god, Betty Lou, that girl's carrying an oil field on her head!"

Did I mention I had to run into Leah's school to drop off some forms and make sure her lunch account had money in it? And that my scheduled lunch was with the new Greg and the NJ field guy from the RNC?

At least I brushed my teeth this morning. And Wawa has no dress code, so I went ahead and got my coffee and Daily News anyway. And doughnuts. And I am off tomorrow and Friday so that I may clean and bake and otherwise prepare for Saturday night, aka the night I am crazy enough to again host a party for KC's office. Hopefully this year he and his buddies from the reserves will talk to other people about other subjects than the fucking military, and also that if KC gets a call he will not hold us hostage while he cranks his pager up to top volume so that we all may listen.

It's been a year and I am still irritated about that. I must work on "letting things go".