So I realized tonight that I haven’t been to the mailbox all week. I’m blaming it all on the giant dump of snow. I didn’t think I’d be able to make it there and back without pulling a Little House on the Prairie and tying a rope to each tree I passed (you know, so I’d have something to lead me back through the white-blanketed wasteland to my beloved homestead without getting lost in the drifts), so I just didn’t bother with it at all.  But, when hubby came down the stairs this evening (conveniently dressed in shorts and a t-shirt – his “home for the night” attire) to remind me that we had a dental reimbursement cheque coming (woo! free money!) (well, sort of…), I decided to make the 30 second trek to the end of the street. 

Now before you get all she’s a hero, she went to the mailbox and lived to tell the tale on me, let me just say that the weather has actually improved significantly over the past two days. The sunshine, combined with the many snowplows out on the roads, has cleared up the streets and sidewalks significantly. So, while I’d love for everyone to be proud of my *cough* bravery, I’m no hero. I just wanted my cheque. 

**Now, before I go any further, let me just take a moment to brag about the awesome deal I got at Walmart. I managed to score myself a big, baggy pair of men’s black plaid flannel “leisure pants” for less than $10. I’m sure you’re jealous. I would be if I were you.**

So, as I was zipping my black suede nearly-knee-high boots up over the above mentioned flannel pants (because I wouldn’t want to drag such a treasure through the snow and risk getting them wet) I became aware that I wasn’t putting forth the most flattering image of myself. The pajama bottoms were puffing up over the top of the boots, making me look like a pirate with a penchant for plaid.  I wouldn’t have been surprised at all if I were ambushed by the people at What Not to Wear for daring to step foot in public wearing such a warm, comfy abomination. Nonetheless, I zipped up my wool dress coat and went on my merry way. 

As I was walking down the driveway, I thought to myself, “I sure hope none of the neighbors see me dressed like this. How will I be able to explain it?” I considered going back home and changing into a pair of jeans. Ultimately, the threat of being caught dressed like a gender-confused Scottish pirate-slash-career woman wasn’t enough to deter me and I continued on to the mailbox, looking for all the world like I was swashbuckling myself to a business meeting.

This is the part where, if my life were a cheesy 80s sitcom, I would be sneaking down the street, only to come upon my entire neighborhood having a block party in the wintry darkness. Their patio lanterns would shine simultaneously upon me and everyone would laugh as I desperately wished that the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

Fortunately, my life is of the regular, non-cheesy-80s-sitcom variety.

I made it to the mailbox without being noticed, got my precious cheque (along with some bills – gah! – and a Chirp magazine for the boy), and swashbuckled my booty back home. The End.

ps – I have no plans of wearing my super baggy, black plaid men’s flannel leisure pants out in public ever again. Ever. Amen. (But dang are they ever comfy. And warm. And plaid.)

Filed under: Confessions, Me |