A Letter

Dear fellow office building peeps,

Now I know that I look like crap 94.7% of the time, but this in no way entitles you to snicker, sneer, close the elevator door when I am inches away from it, or stare at me disapprovingly when I am in the elevator surrounded by 360 degrees of potentially cracking mirrors. Believe me, it is at times like these when I wish that I could be a wallflower, so
Please!DON'TdrawanymoreattentiontomethatIhavenotalreadydrawntomyself.
Our office is a casual environment, one that doesn't care if we just rolled out of bed and came with mattress-tousled locks, furry-sweater-wearing teeth, wrinkled clothes, and dressed in our finest slippers (not that I have ever done that). I am sorry that you work for the federal government or that hordy-tordy lawfirm where you have to wear skirts, closed-toe shoes, airway-constricting turtlenecks, and support hose, but really, people, give me a break!

So in honor of that I am listing my "Top 10 reasons I look like dog poo:"
1. Speaking of dog poo, my dog ate my really cute outfit that I had set out the night before. She's a ferocious one!
b. I am currently in between sizes due to the exhorborant amount of weight that I have lost in the past month.
3. I haven't switched out my summer clothes with my fall ones that are housed in storage, and I only have sweats in my near vicinity.
4. My skinny jeans no longer make me feel skinny, what with that pesky muffin top bulging out.
c. Mr. Cranky-Pants threw all grooming appliances away for fear he would come home to a scorched house because I continuously forgot to unplug the curling iron.
6. That third bottle of wine I had the night before did me in, and I passed out while setting the alarm, only to wake up 10 minutes before I was supposed to be at work.
7. I spent the night lying awake, wondering why Mr. Darcy hasn't told Lizzie his true feelings for me, hence, the dark, droopy bags under my eyes.
g. Casper called and he wants his white pasty skin back. Unfortunately, it's stuck like glue, and therefore, I cannot wear anything but the above mentioned sweats in an effort to hide my shame.
h. The stores in my area do not carry a size 000.
10. For some unknown reason, I am unable to put together a cohesive, stylish, form-fitting, figure-flattering, cost-conscious, non-denim outfit and have my makeup airbrushed, unibrow plucked, and hair trimmed, curled, and styled by the time 8:00 a.m. rolls around. Get over it!

But if you feel the need to slip an Anthro giftcard under the office Christmas tree with my name on it, I will be much obliged to buy any of the following:








Sincerely yours,
The Procrastinator

P.S. I have not lost exhorborant amounts of weight, nor do I an any way, shape, or form wear I size 000, except maybe on my pinkie. I do, however, have a muffin top. Just sayin!