You know the saying, “always dress like you’re about to see your worst enemy”? Well, as a lady in her 30s who loathes running errands, I subscribe to the saying, “dress like you give zero fucks because you want to get this shit done as quickly as possible.”

If my enemies saw me in “running errands” mode, they would do a victory lap. Stores are hot. Most people are rude, especially in the grocery store. Henceforth, most of the time, I don’t put in a lot of effort. Want to grab drinks? I’ll look like a million bucks… well… maybe like $100,000. Need shit to make dinner? I may look a little rough.

Quite frankly, I’m not sure when I stopped caring about what I looked like whilst running errands. Because I remember as a teenager, I wouldn’t even go get the mail without a full outfit and face of makeup on, because GOD forbid my crush would bike past my house or something.

So let me paint you an unfortunate picture:

• No shower (calm down, I usually shower later)
• No makeup (I really only check to make sure I don’t have black smeared all underneath my eyes)
• Rosacea at full glow
• Hair either under a hat, barely brushed, or up in a messy bun (and I’m not one of those girls who can do an effortlessly chic messy bun, I usually try and then have strands of hair poking out every which way)
• Leggings, because the idea of real pants exhausts me when I’m just trying to get out the door
• A random top – like for example I threw on a fleece the other day, realized it was inside out, and did not amend the issue (photo evidence above… it was too good not to photograph)
• No bra
• Converse sneakers
• Sunglasses

I feel very blessed it’s wintertime… well, YOU should feel very blessed it’s wintertime, because a chic coat is the best distraction from a hot mess look. A winter hat, cute coat, and sunglasses? You think I look so stylish with a side of rosacea, right? Well, it’s because the sweatshirt I’m wearing, which happens to have Diet Coke stains on it, topped with a thick layer of dog fur, with my taas fully unsupported, is hidden from your eye balls.

I think I trick myself into believing it’s okay leaving the house looking somewhat homeless by pretending I’m just like a celebrity, dressed all comfy without makeup on, trying not to be noticed by my swarm of fans at the airport. Welp, I’m the farthest thing from a celebrity. And I don’t see what would stop Carol from 10^th grade chemistry class, who sees me in Wegmans for the first time after 15 years, from coming over and painfully reuniting.

So I raise my glass to you ladies in your Lululemons, looking all put together and fabulous while I creep past you in the produce section looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame who escaped from her bed and binge watch. Especially the ones with kids. How the fuck do you care for children AND manage to make yourself look flawless out in public? I mean, serious props to those ladies.

I don’t think we always need to be put together. Mostly because it’s EXHAUSTING. Why do I need to shower, curl my hair, style a cute outfit, and put on a full face of makeup when I just need God damn chicken breasts? It’s one thing if it makes you feel good to do so, it’s another when you’re doing it to please others. I don’t care who judges me, I don’t get glam for the grocery store. I suppose this is one of those rare and mystical things about getting older.

For the ones who are like me, who give zero fucks about what they look like whilst running necessary errands, I would say high five me or something if you see me out, but let’s be real, neither or us want to make eye contact with anyone, so a silent salute will have to do.