Dressing up for dropping off

In thirty minutes I will pack up Bubba and take him to his karate class, a weekly exercise in patience, encouragement and bribery. But first I have to change outfits.

Generally I only have about three minutes to assemble my garb. This entails shedding my t-shirt and jeans and donning another t-shirt and jeans. Sometimes I slip on a bangle, if I'm feeling all feisty-ish, and an uncomfortable but cute pair of shoes. Then I spray on some perfume, put Magnus in his gee and schlep to the karate studio, where I summarily sit by myself for an hour, observed and smelled by absolutely no one.

I see you rolling your eyes, faithful readers, and wondering why I bother changing clothes when all I do is sit in the corner of the studio, next to the fish tank. You mean-spirited readers probably consider me selfish, someone who puts her own needs ahead of those of her three young young children. (Screw you guys, you can hang out at some other blog.)

The truth is, there is no real reason for my compulsion to change. It's just my thing, like other people have their things. Who are we, anyway, to judge each other's things? I pass no judgement on your thing (unless you collect ceramic gnomes, cos that shit is just weird.)

So I'll make you a deal. You don't judge my need for costume changes and just love me for who I am.

And please compliment my shoes, they are freaking killing me.