I attempted to run 3 miles tonight after work, but it started to rain JUST as I got to the track. Which normally isn't a problem - running in the rain is my favorite - except that it wasn't just rain. It was typhoon rain. It was soaked through shoes and socks and clothes rain. It was "I can't open my eyes all the way and I think I saw an infant get carried away in the runoff" rain.
So I ran 1 mile. Just 1. How lame. I totally wanted to keep going. But my mother had gotten me all kinds of paranoid about lightning. And I drove home 100% soaked and dripping while my car windows fogged around me. As soon as I walked in the door I went upstairs to change. I put on pajamas because...well, I don't know why. The nightgown in my closet was just calling my name, OK? Land sakes alive.
And I'm sitting on my couch, in a nightgown and flip flops when I catch someone bounding up the front steps out of the corner of my eye. And there's a knock. And I'm all, "man, I hope my car didn't roll into someone else's car and cause thousands and thousands of dollars of damage," and, "no one can see me in this.*"
So as I run to the door, I throw on one of Leaf's button-up shirts which he thankfully left on the back of a living room chair, and clutch it around myself. And then I open the door. And it's our neighbor who fed Carlos while we were in Hilton Head. And I'm looking...highly suspect. Dude's just trying to return our house key. And I'm there, hair in a wet, frizzy ponytail, makeup running, holding a plain shirt closed like there's something to see, with a flowery nightgown skirt sticking out below it.
I am just really too classy for Wilmington. Really.
*It's not like it's lingerie or anything, it's just a regular nightgown. But I don't wear SHORTS because they show too much leg is how I roll. I don't attend church with BARE SHOULDERS. My neighbors must never ever ever see my nightgowns. Ever.