My mom and sister love to comment on how high maintenance they feel I am. They know it always offends me, which is why they continue to rub salt in that wound; family is truly wonderful.
Their reason for the label is that I like to do a little checklist before leaving the house: I like to make sure I am wearing at least a little makeup, that my outfit is stain-free, that my shoes at least somewhat match my outfit (and one another), and that I am, most importantly, not leaving the house wearing sweatpants.
To them, this is ludicrous. To me, it’s how I prefer to present myself in public.
It takes ten minutes for me to put on makeup, and I prefer to leave the house with a little color on my face versus my normal Casper the Friendly Ghost look (my roomie Crystal will assure you that my legs are so white they force her to go tanning out of fear of ever being as pale as me).
I know it takes me ten minutes, because today I timed it, as only a true geek would do, by measuring how long it took me to apply makeup at the office versus the download time of yesterday’s photo shoot. The download needed 12 minutes, and I finished with almost 3 to spare. Carlene = not high maintenance, Mom.
So, as I pat myself on the back for being no more than “middle maintenance,” it’s time to get to work. I’ve got a big photo shoot to edit today, and I’m hoping to get a few of the photos up on the blog today-ish.
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One Response to “High Maintenance (I am NOT)”
I get really upset with my 4yo b/c she is soooo picky about which pair of pants she will wear and on which day. They must be comfortable and the same pair of pants is not always comfortable. Every morning is dramatic b/c of this. So today I’m going through my drawers and realizing that all 4 of my drawstring Old Navy pairs of sweatpants (2 pairs of them are velour) are in the laundry and it ruined my morning. I had to put on the khakis I’ve avoided wearing all winter. I am no different than my daughter and I break your sweatpants rule every day. The upside is that when I showed up at my daughter’s school to volunteer her teacher told me I looked “nice” for the first time! It’s all in the pants I guess…