It's official: I've let myself go

As much as I would like to blame this all on my poor innocent daughter--and she definitely had something to do with that extra 50 lbs. I gained last Spring--the truth is that I've let myself go for quite a long time now. Let's face it. I hang out with dogs. Day in and day out instead of getting up and putting on makeup and nice clothes, I throw a sweatshirt over my pajamas and sit on the couch with my laptop. Within five seconds there's at least one dog draped across my lap. It's usually John.

John really doesn't care if my hair is in a pony tail or if I took a shower that morning. He loves me anyway. In fact, the stinkier I get the more John loves me. He lives for the day when I go crazy and roll around in three day old liver before coming to bed.

Unfortunately (or fortunately?), the rest of the world does not share John's complete disregard for personal hygiene. And they do not consider a padded lap to be a positive feature. So in the interest of conforming to the rest of our shallow society I have made a decision. No, I'm not having plastic surgery. As if. I am, however, going to try to do something with my hair. Besides brushing it. Every day. This is a major commitment on my part. We'll see how long it lasts.