So a meeting today got unexpectedly rescheduled and the nice presentable business coastal (my own invention, hope you like it) outfit is just not necessary. I could’ve worn my first choice of yoga capris and a Life is Good t shirt that I fell in love with a couple of weeks ago, and saved this outfit for when it actually matters what I look like because I am the walking talking life size Barbie (well no not actually Barbie) of this business. In reality, I am the partnership ambassador no matter what I’m wearing, even when I roll out of bed and into whatever clothes I shed the night before while walking Copper because it was dark then, and it’s dark now, and who cares what I’m wearing while I’m hoofing and poofing (yep giant morning hair barely corralled in a ponytail that resembles a bath pouf – now that’s a visual, Deb in last night’s walking clothes being chased by a hairy bath pouf) around the block.
I’d go more than a block but my carefully-synchronized morning schedule will not allow that. I can do the block in ten minutes, unless Copper encounters a really fantastic-smelling mailbox. In that case all bets are off. And heaven help us if one of my two or three favorite neighborhood friends comes out to pick up the paper. Those few minutes spent conversing really throw me off schedule.
After a brief but necessary morning shower (I do live in Florida, where the summer humidity is as thick as apple butter but far less appealing), I go to the kitchen sporting the cutest monogrammed waffle weave robe, a gift from my youngest daughter Marley that makes me feel like I’m spending a day at a spa. The Keurig obediently spits out a cup of whatever coffee I happen to not dislike too much (the favorite ones go early and I’m left with ones that are just sort of tolerable) and whatever I can rustle up for breakfast. Which is often eaten, and I’m embarrassed to report this, but it’s true: in the bathroom. (Cue Frasier and Niles: “Food! In the bathroom!”) But that is how I multi-task. Mascara and muffin girl, that’s me.
Depending on how large my hair is that day, I either clip some of it back with a (hopefully invisible) little butterfly clip that is supposed to be the same color as my hair (tortoiseshell, anyone?) or wrestle the whole mess into submission with nifty little metal spinny clips or a hair bungee. Why Target doesn’t carry hair bungees is a mystery to me. Amazon does. They are real deal miniature bungees with a little metal hook at each end, and you wrap them around your ponytail and voila! you have whatever suits you – a high and tight perky-tail, or a low rider that nestles into your neck like a hamster settling in for a nap. I like the spinny clips, but they have an alarming habit of spinning themselves free at the most inopportune times, and then I have to retrieve them while fumbling desperately with hair that has escaped the freeform sculpture attained only with the help of said spinny clip. Not my best look and very hard to recover from. (“Yes I’m Deb and you can trust me with your important project and please pay no attention to the hair explosion I’m currently experiencing. Oh there’s my spinny clip, by your shoe. Would you mind…?”)
So whoever said the best part of waking up is Folger’s in your cup hasn’t spent any time between 5 and 6:30 a.m. with me, obviously. Enjoy your day, everyone!