I have always fancied myself to be a pretty observant person, taking mental note of all the random little things that often go unregistered. Like the two small cups of Dunkin' Donuts coffee one of my old professors used to bring to every class. Or the ladybug design on the PLU sticker on my apple. Or the surprising number of people at the grocery store who buy those sugar wafer cookies. So, when I was climbing across the passenger seat of my car a few days ago, getting my trusty l'il Honda ready for its end-of-lease inspection, I couldn't believe what I noticed: a sticky mark on my windshield from where a piece of tape once held the spec sheet on my car.
I've had this car for three and a half years now, and I'm just noticing this tape on my windshield? What else have I been living with, ignorant of its existence? True, my purse and shoes don't often match--yet they're not artfully mismatched in that Clinton- and Stacy-approved way. I've spied a poppyseed in my teeth hours after eating an everything bagel for breakfast. I sometimes wear a gold ring along with my stainless steel watch. The horror, I know. But at the end of the day, who cares really. Does it make me less intelligent, less presentable, less successful? No, no, and no. So what if there's a line of sticky gunk on my passenger side windshield that has been there for the past 41 months.
But if you ever see me walking around with the 100% lambswool tag hanging from the sleeve of my coat or (gasp, shudder) the little white stitches on the back waistband of my pants, then you can judge me. Until then, I'm owning up to my smudges and imperfections.
_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. ("Imperfectly Yours" photo credit Mel B. via Creative Commons--thank you!)
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