Glam versus Gross

In my mind, I'm glamorous and beautiful. Elegant and graceful. I am gliding through life with the whisper of rose petals following my diaphanous self.

In real life, I've got boogers on my shirt. They were placed there by a child who had them oozing out of their nose and ran up to me as if to give me a big hug. I, being a moron, fell for it and now have the offensive bodily whatever stuck to my shirt. Oh, sure I wiped off what I could. And sure, I could have changed my shirt. And sure, while I was in the bedroom with the door shut, changing my shirt, I could have just kissed the house goodbye... AND how much laundry can I really be doing? If I changed my shirt everytime something happened to it...boogers, spit, peanut butter, graham cracker goo, milk, formula etc, I'd be in my bedroom all day long and while that is one way to live, it's not exactly what I'm paid to do by trusting parents who drop off their drooling darlings into my experienced care. 

In real life, (which by the way I do not recommend generally, Denial* being a way more glamorous place to hang out) I am round, given to embarrassing myself in public, and smell of Obsession and Diet Pepsi, when I do not smell like peanut butter. I'm not too bad to look at, I suppose, especially if you're 4 and you see me making cookies. I think it may be my best look.

So, until my book sells, and Kelly Ripa calls me up to be on her show, I'm not worrying about my shirt in real life. In my mind, however, I have my elegant, diaphanous outfit all ready to go.


*Denial: A lovely, warm vacation spot with nice hotels, handsome cabana boys who bring you cold Diet Pepsi, comfortable chairs and not a booger in sight.