We're Fancy Now...

Boxes. I resist them. Why do humans like to categorize and pigeonhole themselves into comfortable packages? I'm an Artist. I'm a Realtor. I'm a Mom. I'm a whole pile of things, but I prefer the banner, "I'm a Woman of Great Contrasts." My Daddy always told us to be a tiger on the basketball court, but wear dresses on game day. Dig a ditch but play classical music on the piano. Help the dog birth her puppies but write a song. We're all a mix of beautiful, awful things and we should embrace all of it. On the other hand, maybe not.....

Like today. It is a challenge to have more than one official vocation. I truly am a working artist and a working Realtor, never the twain shall meet. I started out the day with a plan to have two closings, hurrah and hallelujah. Early on, one of them began to crumble and become delayed because of a mortgage issue. So I made another plan: work on my "quilt" (a painted quilt project we're doing for downtown Villa Rica) and caulk my new shower. Then I'd quit at a decent time for the next closing. So I threw off my fancy realtor duds, tossed on a paint shirt and shoes and started on my adventures. When it got to the shower part, I opened the caulk only to find out someone had opened it before me and used half of it. It came from the store that way. Elated. So Zoe the dog and I hoofed it on up to Home Depot (I love it because they let me take her inside!) I was in a hurry and sweating bullets from my first assignment, trying to get done before I had to get gussied up again for the next closing. As I grabbed a cart and headed into the building, I happened to look down at my poor, not-quite-Naired-legs. I realized a serious problem had occurred in my attire. First, I have to interrupt with this: I hate, I mean hate, Spanx. Whoever decided those things were wonderful needs to have their head examined. The only women who can wear those torture devices are women who don't actually need them. Because if you are a fluffy gal with acreage, you might just give yourself a hernia putting them on. This is too much information for, well, anybody, but whatever. I'm too far gone to care. Instead of Spanx I have been buying these awesome, sweat-wicking underwear at Walmart. They have nice long legs to them, they help with chafing and heat. They're kinda silky and work perfectly under dresses. Unfortunately, they only come in gun metal gray and camouflage. There's a reason for that. One evening, I took one of my precocious granddaughters to a public restroom and had to discreetly (I thought) go as well, while we were in there. She hollers out: "Yaya! You have on Papa's underwear!!!" It's really not Papa's underwear. I promise it's mine, even though I definitely did not buy it at Victoria's Secret. So today, yes today, when I looked down and found myself in Home Depot wearing a paint shirt and Papa's underwear masquerading as shorts, I was fairly thankful that I brought the dog. Although she might have drawn extra, unwanted attention to my predicament, here's hoping that people were looking at the dog, not her fascinating owner.