But then, this morning, I sunk even lower. The little one and I drove the hubby to work, both of us in our PJs, figuring we wouldn't even get out of the car. But when we dropped him off, damn if there wasn't a Jamba Juice calling our name. So, I threw caution to the wind and headed on in. Let me give you a mental picture. I am wearing cropped sweats (a dire no-no for stumpy norwegians like myself), an oversized hooded sweatshirt with a sticker of Jiminy Cricket over my left breast (a gift from my daughter), grey slipper boots with big fluffy pom poms dangling down each side, and a baseball hat. Oh, did I mention I had yogurt wiped all over one of my pant legs? Because I did. My daughter was in her footie PJs with full-blown Einstein hair. We were quite a sight. My apologies to you, Mr. Jamba Juice Barista, for the fright we must have given you this morning. I'll try not to let it happen again. At least this week.
Ok. I feel better now. Thanks for listening.