The folks at Publisher’s Clearinghouse are promising me (again) that I will win lots o’ money for the rest of my life if I just enter their sweepstakes. They beckon me to “send it in” every night from my television. That sounds very appealing because I sure could use $5000 a week for the rest of my life. Teen Angel’s taste in jeans is enough to make me go broke, and baby (that’s me) needs..er wants..new shoes (again). Yes sir, I could use that money. But I won’t enter. Why? Because I don’t want the nation watching me over and over again in a videotaped check presentation that reveals what I really look like when someone shows up at my front door unannounced.
First of all I would have to chase down my yappin’ miniature schnauzer that has more bark than sense. Then I would have to wrestle him into his crate while I shout, “Hang on, I’m coming,” at a volume that would make a champion hog caller proud. A mad search for a robe would follow because I find no reason to wear anything but pajamas when in the confines of my home. And while I would be mighty surprised by the balloon crew on the other side of my door, they would probably get a bigger shock out of my appearance. My “at home” look is stunning. Absolutely out of this world.
If it’s a good day, I’ll be in my newest pajamas…the ones with the flannel leopard print pants..circa 2003. The top has some kind of cake batter stain on the front, a badge from a spoon licking accident. I’ll probably be wearing gray socks that are supposed to be white. My feet get cold easily. I don’t like cold feet. Also, the socks make it easier to skate down the hallway on the hardwood floors. However, if the laundry is backed up and I’m having a sock shortage, I could be wearing those blue fuzzy footies we got from Mama J.’s last hospital stay. My robe will hide the fact that I chucked the Playtex Cross Your Heart the minute I got home. I have a beautiful new robe Teen Angel gave me for Christmas. It’s blue with yellow stars and moons and beats the heck out of the old purple one I buried last week. It clashes with the leopard print pants, though. An ensemble that special calls for a special hairdo. My typical upsweep consists of a white bandana twisted and tied around my head like a headband with my hair twisted into a wad and stuck to the back of my head with a giant barrette. I call it the cockatoo do. It’s a lovely look.
Over the years my neighbors have been kind enough to overlook my appearance when they’ve knocked on my door or stumbled upon me at 5:30am while I’m walking the dog. It’s one reason we haven’t moved to another neighborhood. I’m afraid I’d have to wear more clothes or better clothes to the mailbox. My current neighbors accept me, leopard pants and all. I’m afraid the Publisher’s Clearinghouse folks wouldn’t. So thanks, Ed, for the offer of lifelong riches, but I’ll have to pass. I might take some new pajamas though. Got any of those?
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