Monday Dare: Oops

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link if you’d like to see the complete list of Monday Dares or learn more about its origin.

This week: Stop dressing like a homeless person

I don’t know when my downward spiral of apathy began (yes, so dramatic), but lately I’ve been dressing like Balki from Perfect Strangers. There’s really no rhyme or reason to what I throw on in the morning. If it’s clean and it hasn’t been rolling around on the bathroom floor for a week, then I’m a-ok with wearing it.

A while back, I ran out (And by “ran out,” I mean I got into my car and drove a distance which is commonly known as “just a stone’s throw away,” because I so clearly care about saving the environment and getting exercise.) to the neighborhood newsstand wearing a pair of pleated Dockers and a grossly oversized 100% cotton t-shirt with J.R. Ewing on the front. I like to throw out the fiber content of the shirt because I want you to know that I’m all about quality and not about wearing those cheap cotton/polyester blends. Also, I was wearing loafers without any socks. This may be where you decide not to know me anymore, but then let me ask you this: Do you really want to be the type of person that turns away from a friend because of bad life choices like loafers without socks? Is that who you want to be?

“Stop it, Liz, just stop it,” you may be thinking. “Stop making me feel guilty for things that are your own damn fault.”

I picked up the newest editions of The New Yorker and the Smithsonian. Ok, fine, if I’m being honest, I was really there for a copy of Cosmopolitan, but I always hide it in between two more respectable magazines because I care about what other people think. Even people at the newsstand I will most likely never see again, because I’m an underdeveloped adult, and I’m self-aware, and no, I don’t plan on changing anytime soon.

Eager to get home so I could learn how to give myself a fishtail braid as the magazine promised, I looked around for Sal, the newsstand guy, and only saw one other person nearby- a man in a grimy gray sweatsuit hanging out to the side. As I handed over my magazines and a twenty dollar bill, I prayed that Sal hadn’t fallen ill or been fired, because Sal always hooks me up with a pack of gum and some funny knock-knock jokes, and I would totally miss that.

I looked up for the first time and made eye contact with the new guy. Except it wasn’t the new guy.

It was Denzel Washington.

He chuckled good-naturedly and pointed me in the direction of Sal, who was rounding the corner. I wanted to apologize profusely and maybe even bow or curtsy to show my deep regret, but I was speechless. He waved me away and told me not to worry about it. DEAR LORD, THIS IS WHY I SHOULD NEVER BE LET OUT OF THE HOUSE.

I did what I thought was best. I put down the magazines and ran.

So, lesson learned. If one of the most beautiful men on the planet is nearly unrecognizable in a grimy sweatsuit, I’d better get my act together and start dressing better.

P.S. I was about to feed you some nonsense about how I’m really smart and funny on Twitter and the Flourish in Progress Facebook page, but I decided against straight-out lying to you. I post random things on a daily basis on both. Let’s get connected.

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