So lately, I’ve been wearing workout clothes a lot. I know. But a gal can only resist the workout-clothes-in-public-trend for so long. I finally gave in and it all started with a pair of shoes.
Doesn’t it always?
My ankles have an inversion when I try to run. So I was so excited about this pair of shoes, even if they were the last pair in my size that were the equivalent of the Rainbow Brite version of Alexander and The Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day. Remember that part of the story when he’s all grumpy about the shoes he can’t have and threatens to move to Australia? Except I was just so happy they had a pair, I went with it. And I’ll still take Australia.
I do this thing where I don’t replace things except every 6 years, or when absolutely necessary and my old shoes had been plastered in paint traceable to back before our kitchen makeover and I don’t know how many miles they’d covered. But it was definitely time for a new pair, because I was basically running barefoot on concrete and then wondering why my joints were sore. Then I went all, “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” in the middle of the sports store, except with workout clothes, because I was still wearing my sister’s old sports bra from high school and I was tired of people asking me if I’d been painting whenever I put on an old T-shirt to run an errand because even all my t-shirts were coated in paint. I have issues. Especially with run on sentences.
{See: awkward leg/foot photo for shoe demonstration}
Except something happened. The shoes grew on me. Even though I caught Jamin stealing a pic so that he could make fun of me in a family text to my brother {it’s how we roll} I started wearing the shoes and the workout clothes everywhere. It’s not like I’ll be donning them with my mom jeans/giant rose tinted glasses/bush bangs ensemble circa 1987 any time soon. I feel like I’m safe to wear the shoes. Especially in this stifling summer heat.
But I can’t really pull it off. I usually come off as this weird combo of A. {someone attempting to be a} trophy wife or B. {someone who tries to look like they} just finished their WOD.
We’re shamelessly going for both here, people.
Even though the truth is option C. I was being lazy. Maybe I did go for a run that morning. Maybe I woke up like this and went to Target because Target now has Starbucks and sometimes perusing the home section just to look without buying anything whilst sipping on my grande white chocolate mocha {No, I don’t want to know how many calories they have} is one of my small joys in life. Jamin may or may not have walked in on me last Saturday in the middle of the living room, and I was all “Namaste, SUCKA” in my tree pose because I looked the part, so why not. Never mind that I had to google “yoga poses” to figure out what it’s called so I could overshare.
I looked kind of good doing it. And I had the cool shoes to match. I don’t get out much.
It was Tuesday when Jamin had whipped up some fresh veggies for lunch. We’ve mentioned it like, fifty unbearable times now, but we’re totally on our farmer’s market thing, and yay fresh veggies. So I was traipsing around the house in my workout clothes {because I’d actually gotten out that morning} but not just any workout clothes, my favorite blue tank top. It’s the one shirt in which I can really get by with no makeup on, and stinky but it still looks like I’m trying because it’s the one shade that works for me. My arms become smaller and I look kind of tan and it brings out my eyes. It’s like it cancels all the other obvious stuff out. Like bathing. At least in my mind. Also, it’s not covered in paint. Winning.
The entire family was having a lively conversation around the lunch table, and the dogs were sitting on the floor, waiting patiently for what they assumed would be at least a good lick or two. I was so excited about the butterbeans Jamin had cooked, that I went back for thirds.
I think it’s important to mention here that I was an odd child, and I still like ketchup on my butterbeans. I think it’s how they taught me to eat my veggies. Also, maybe these were lima beans. But I like the name butterbeans more, so I’m sticking with it.
No judging, on the ketchup. Or the thirds.
It’s also important to mention here that we’d just had a convo with the kids about good table manners. About not putting our elbows on the table, and not smacking our food. We’re working on it.
And I was ready to sit down. With my nice third helping of butterbeans covered in ketchup.
Mid convo with the kids, I wasn’t really quite paying attention. In my brand new blue shirt that makes my eyes look good and my arms tan and that maybe like I’m someone’s trophy wife who just finished her WOD. Emphasis on the maybe.
And that was when it happened.
I placed my plate on the table, but not all the way. It was hanging over the edge, just a smidge. Just enough for me to not notice. And when I sat down, I took it with me. I flipped the entire thing. From my neck, to my ankles. In my lap. On my shirt. Butter beans. Trickled down in a fresh-cooked, slightly greasy fashion. Butterbeans were on my shoulders, in my sports bra, butterbeans were running down my legs. To be eagerly lapped up by the pups who waited and worked diligently below my feet.
And my entire brand new, blue shirt, was covered in ketchup.
I could barely breathe, I was laughing so hard.
My only consolation was that the dogs were taking care of the mess, and the entire family erupted in hysterical laughter while Jamin noted that he was living with two five year olds. I swear Malone is a neater eater than me, and this is the kid who always drags his sleeve through his own ketchup, and wears half of his meals. At least he wasn’t currently covered in it.
The situation was so bad, everyone closed their eyes while I stripped down and ran for the bathroom straight to the shower. And the pups enjoyed the rest of their feast left for them on the floor. I threw said shirt in the wash immediately, but there are still a few tale-tale spots left behind.
At least the grease spots caught it up to par with the rest of my paint covered clothing selection.
I’m the reason we can’t have anything nice.
I’m a bit of a textbook klutz. I’m also the one randomly inuring herself, and when people ask me where that black eye came from, I have to tell them I ran into the back of the minivan. True story. Jamin refers to it as my drinking problem. Except it’s always with ice water, and it’s crashing into my face and I miss my mouth, and my entire shirt is soaked. Most of the time, this is also with a lid. My real issue with food and lack of general coordination flew proudly that day.
I’m officially the one who twists her ankle in really high platforms at a dinner party in front of fifty other guests -It’s legit now that I have my new inversion prevention rainbow brite shoes.
I’ll just wear those next time to cocktails, with my maxi dress.
Jenna says
This is hilarious! It’s so like me to run into something or trip over my own two feet!
Layla K says
I may have walked into a door last week and gave myself a black eye. And now I feel better about myself. Lol! Your posts are my favorite.
Laura G. says
Ha! You had me at mom jeans.
http://www.forever21.com/Product/Product.aspx?br=F21&category=bottom&productid=2000154070
Alexis says
Hahaha! This is great! I’m the same way about workout clothes. Did I roll out of bed like this? Did I just finish my wod? The world may never know.
Tonya says
Please tell me about the magnets on your fridge!!
ashley @ the handmade home says
Hey Tonya! You can read all about them here ;}
Tonya says
Thank you so much. I so have to make these with my daughters. I think I will need a set for home on the fridge and on the whiteboard in my classroom!
I am new to your blog. Love your blog and your writing!
colleen from Alabama says
I have a messy issue too! And grease is a booger. Dawn dish washing liquid and hydrogen peroxide (1 part original dawn to 2parts hydro) will have your shirt looking good as new again! Oh, and I have fresh zipper peas from the farm stand in my fridge right now waiting to be gobbled up!