Today I am organized.
Today I have myself together.
Today I am showered, blown out, made up, and clad in ready-to-go-outside clothing.
Today I'm in full jewelry.
Today I know where my shoes are.
Today my walkway is shoveled.
Today that smart-assed FedEx driver isn't going to catch me in my bathrobe or in dirty sweatpants or with wet hair and no make-up or barefoot scuttling through snowdrifts and across freezing sidewalks covered in sharp rock salt crystals. AGAIN.
Today I am not going to sound all breathless and spastic on the intercom when the doorbell rings.
Today I will make up for three weeks of pajama-based, stained-shirted, wet-haired, naked faced, frozen-footed embarrassment.
Today I am going to prove that I am a competent adult, able to sign for a package without looking like a total asshole in the process.
Today I am ready.
Today I spot the truck from my office on the second floor and run downstairs, out the door, over to the gate to wait in well-groomed, nicely dressed anticipation.
Today the smart-assed FedEx driver walks completely past my house. He spots me as he climbs back into his truck, pausing only long enough to say, "Nothing today. Maybe tomorrow."
Game on, tomorrow. Game on.
