Hahaha, I Am So Classy.

So yesterday was my day off. It's been a beautiful week in Columbus, but of course on my day off it rained all day. At least it wasn't cold!

I had a real nice day off. I slept in and read my book and had coffee with my baby, and then we went to lunch. After lunch I was like, PAJAMAS. We watched, like, half of Krull. Remember Krull? It's not as good now as it was in the 80's, trust me. Sometimes nostalgia can save a movie. Once I forced Matt to watch Little Monsters. He hadn't seen it as a child (WHAT? Seriously, what kid in the 80's didn't see Little Monsters?) and apparently if you didn't love it during your childhood, it is awful. Nostalgia totally makes Little Monsters awesome to me. Not so, Krull.

So dinnertime rolls around, and I am officially amazing. I decided I wanted to make hot browns. I don't know if hot browns are a real thing or if they're just something my mom made up. It's like an open-face sandwich, and then you cover it with cheese sauce and some shredded cheddar and put it under the broiler 'til it's brown on top. OH MAN. I put mushrooms and onions and spinach and avocado on those suckers, and whipped me up a little cheesey saucey, and they were GOOD.

However, before I could create this sammytown excellence, I had to get all those things. Spinach, and avocado, and mushrooms, and onions, and bread, and also milk for the cheese sauce. I don't know if you know this about me, but I really hate the grocery store and sometimes I don't go there until there's nothin in the pantry but dried beans. But! That's what husbands are for. Matt went out in the rain for the groceries and I stayed home and wove in ends on my Owl Sweater (just needs eyeballs and it's donezo!)

So there I was, on the couch, weavin' ends, when Matt popped back in the door all angry.

He had just gone through a nightmare of not being able to pay for groceries. The debit card wouldn't work. And, readers, something is definitely wrong with the card because I had just put money in that account and checked the balance that very morning. Frustration station! They wouldn't let him write a check because to write checks at the grocery store you have to register, apparently, and it takes a couple weeks or something. So he's all embarassed and angry, and he pops in the door to say that the groceries are at the customer service desk at the Giant Eagle, and can I give him cash for them? I didn't have enough cash! I gave him my debit card, but he was concerned that they wouldn't let him use it because it was obviously not his card and he was already a suspicious character who couldn't pay his bill. So.

So I went to the grocery store.

I went to the grocery store in my red PJ pants and a dirty old T shirt and no bra. I threw a cardigan on. I had, earlier in the evening, grabbed my hair in a handful and threw a rubber band around it, so it was in a lumpy, off-center approximation of a ponytail. (My hair is very short, so my ponytail sticks straight out from the back of my head. It's cute.) I went, in this handsome state, to pay for groceries for which my husband was famously unable to pay. This was one of the more publicly white trash moments of my life...but it gets better!

I paid for the groceries, went home, looked in the mirror, and realized that I had a GIGANTIC hickey on my neck.

Inventory:

-at grocery store.
-can't pay bill.
-sweat pants.
-t shirt, no bra.
-stained cardigan.
-sloppy, lumpy ponytail.
-hickey.
-HICKEY.

This is the path my mother told me to avoid. My mom is a laid back lady, but she was always pretty adamant about the trashyness of hickeys, and I have to say, I agree with her. Furthermore, I am one of those girls at Ross High that I swore I would never become. No! I was better than all that, and I was gonna shake off the dust of this crummy town and see the world! Be a classy sophisticate, and no one would ever dream that I came from such beginnings. So don't tell 10-years-ago Libby about yesterday. All I was missing was a pack of dirty children and a looney tunes t shirt.

Later that night, after grooming myself, I went to karaoke. I forgot all about the hickey in my rush to leave the house, didn't put makeup on it or anything, and, of course, wasn't wearing a scarf or a cowl for the first time in, like, 6 months. I literally was not two steps inside the bar when my friend the karaoke DJ came up to me, put his arm around me, and without so much as a "hello," said "Did a bird fly into your neck?"

If anyone needs me, I'll be getting my navel pierced or cooking meth or something.

Luv,
Bruce