I endured a complete 52-hour stretch this past weekend without showering. Without, as a matter of fact, even changing out of my sweatpants and 7-year-old t-shirt.
And the worst part (please sit down for this): I went out in public. On more than one occasion.
When did I stop caring about who I impress? And more importantly, when did I get so lazy? I take the second part back. I'm not lazy. I wake up before the sun to work out. I ran a marathon, dangit. Not lazy. It's retracted. But I'm still quite unimpressed with being impressive.
Let me begin with a favorite quote from a favorite movie, Garden State: "I'm OK with being unimpressive. I sleep better."
I tell you what, I didn't sleep too well this weekend seeing as though I opted for the couch, but I think there might be some relevance to that statement. Who, really, do I have to impress? I know me. I know I present myself fashionably well when necessary: work, uhh, work. And some other stuff. But honestly, I just went to the grocery store that one time this weekend. (Twice)
My favorite articles of clothing involve an elastic waistband and a hood. So what if I don't want to change clothes, put on make-up and do my hair to run to Festival Foods? Or Target. Or the mall. Or for an entire weekend. My friends know me. They love me - shower or no shower. Right? And my family? I mean, come on, they've seen me covered in birth juices. (Gross, I might add)
Who I really feel bad for is The Boyfriend. Now, before you get all disgusted, no, he did not see me this past weekend. All the more reason not to shower. No one was going to get close enough to me to realize I hadn't washed my hair since Friday morning. But on most occasions, when I do see him, guess what I'm wearing: sweatpants, t-shirt and a ponytail. And yes, I'm showered. But sometimes I wonder if he wonders whether there's even a girl-ish figure underneath the frumpy facade. Yes, I promise, it's there.
I remember the days (ahh yes, the good old days) when it was ludicrous to go to school (high school) without make-up, or (gasp) wearing sweatpants. Thank God college happened. I think that's where the laziness began. Raise your hand if you ever rolled out of bed 12 minutes too late, and sprinted to class in your pajamas: i.e., your sweatpants and that one t-shirt you found. You think it belongs to your roommate. Or her boyfriend. Nevertheless, my point exactly.
Maybe I just don't feel the need to be impressive. (All the time. Or at all.) But I'm loved. I'm beautiful. (Sometimes. Somewhere in there.) And no one I run into at Wal-Mart or the mall or the grocery store at 3:20 p.m. on a Saturday is likely going to have any impact whatsoever on how I feel about myself. (But I do apologize if you saw me this weekend.)
I have bad hair days (more often than not), I still get a zit now and then (and again), if I have no plans, I likely won't waste time in the shower (or in front of the mirror), but dangit, if I want to, I can be quite impressive.