Slob

I've become one.

I was sitting in the allergist's waiting room the other day, counting down the minutes until I could get my shot site checked and I could GO,  when I realized I was the worst-dressed person in the room.  If I'd closed my eyes and reached into my closet and made random choices, it couldn't be worse.

The ensemble:

Tired red fleece Land's End jacket, worn daily for months.

Baggy lightweight jeans with a teeny hole in the bum that I convince myself no one will notice.  My sister told me not to buy these in 2008.  Didn't listen.

Nondescript black t-shirt

And the worst:  A pair of ancient, well-worn sneakers that I've hiked in for years, with white socks with a hole in one heel.  These shoes look truly shot-to-hell. (Heel hole was not visible.)

The whole get-up is comfortable, which is why I grabbed it to wear to the pool that morning and then just went ahead and wore it all day.  I do this all the time.

I tried to talk myself out of out.  After all, I live in Berkeley.   If you're too dressed up, people think you're a real estate lady.  Who cares what I look like?

Didn't work. 

Yesterday when I went back to the allergist for another shot,  I put on newer, tighter jeans; a top that actually coordinated with a scarf;  a long black Eileen Fisher sweatshirt; and sleek new shoes with no dirt or scuffs.

Note "Original Freedom"

I felt better.  But as soon as I got home, I took off the jeans and put on an ancient pair of Gramicci drawstring-waist pants, slid my feet into clogs,  and took a sigh of relief.  Hell with it.

Speckled with lint, but who cares?