The Business of Being Me

Our doorbell rang early this morning.  Although I was expecting a FedEx delivery from our wine club sometime this week, I wasn’t prepared for the 8:00 AM delivery time!  I threw on some clothes and ran downstairs to answer the door.

After exchanging pleasantries with the delivery peopleguy and turning toward the package he had put down in the mudroom to briefly inspect it, I gave my electronic signature and a smile of thanks to the exiting young man who made apologies about the early hour.  Cavalierly adding, “No problem,” and thinking how clever I am to don my wrinkled but bold CAPITALIST t-shirt, and, because I was so quick to dress, I was able to get the wine and not another thing on my to-do list, I returned to the kitchen quite self-satisfied with my being able to pull it all together in an instant. 

That lasted all of .2 seconds before my youngest dashed my illusion saying, “Nice jammies.”

What?

Oh well. 

In addition to the jammie tail and wrinkles, my shirt has some stains on it from my over-enthusiastic opening a wide-mouth jar of coconut oil days earlier.  In my defense, the oil was solid the previous time I had opened it (well before the series of over 95 degree days we’ve been having). 

It’s always something.