Mistaken for a Boy

Not bad enough that I have to deal with the biological aging process and the emotional roller coaster of midlife, but here is the cherry on top of today's sundae.  I was mistaken for a boy.  I believe the exact comment was "Oh, I thought you were Evan my delivery boy".  The sad part was that the gentleman making the comment was sweet, apologetic and apparently of sound mind and sight.

I'd like to believe it was because I had just come from a fairly intense workout.  I was wearing jeans, low heeled motorcycle boots, a loose sweater and no make up,  carrying a black case and running up the stairs (as usual I was late for an appt). Truth is the workout isn't toning as i'd like and the fat doesn't seem to be disintegrating as quickly as desired and I have never heard of a workout so intense that your gender was questioned.

I should probably be honest with myself and realize I need to start putting in a little more effort in the appearance department.  Don't get me wrong.  When I have an event,  the clean up crew is engaged and the results are acceptable.  But for everyday living, I have been slacking.  My sweatpants and husband's XL Pantagonia jacket have become the new uniform.  I walk the dog every morning in my pjs and ski cap.  I am also starting to think it is acceptable to forgo grooming when I am not going to leave the house.. or if I am only making a quick stop.  Of course you NEVER run into anyone when you look like hell right?

I'd also like to believe that I am above vanity and that appearances are insignificant.  Then I look at some of my friends who are ALWAYS put together.  Whether they are at Wegmans, a kid's football game or school drop off, the hair is done, the outfit coordinated and the teeth brushed. They also read, cook, take care of a household and some work.  I've got to pull it together.

Done writing, have to schedule the manicurist and waxer.