Bag Lady or Princess?

Sorry I have been away lately.
I've been practicing the fine art of bag lady-ness...If there is such a thing. Better yet, I just coined that catchy little phrase to describe the condition of ones fashion consciousness when they just don't give a damn.
Which pretty much points to me most of the time.

It's okay.
I've actually come to admire those ladies whose hair dye has faded into soft silver...those wise women who refuse to wear bras, makeup, uncomfortable shoes and attractive clothing.

But you, see, my stretched out yoga pants, paint spattered tee shirt and worn out sneakers have simply become my uniform. This is a perfect ensemble for a day of hammering, fetching, waiting, sweating, mowing ,and catching gnats in your eyelids. Nice jeans and Cross Your Heart bras are so very inappropriate. No one wants that pesty underwire to come creeping up while you're holding a 2x4 above your head in a mud hole. And one inconscious wipe of a caulk-sticky hand can ruin a pair of expensive pants in a split second.

Do I need makeup to measure wood? Or to find the hammer? No.
Do I need deodorant to go outside and bake in the hot sun and ride the 4 wheeler to fetch lumber? No.
Do I need to blow dry my hair, do my nails, or pluck my brows to haul the 4 pound hammer across the yard or plug in the miter saw? Absolutely not.

I must admit right now that my comfort level is practically perfect. So much, in fact, that I went into town wearing my uniform yesterday. Something I would never have done in my old hometown. Despite the trouble of rolling on a sports bra, I went "as is". Oh, believe me, it was so nice to break down those walls of pretentiousness and stressful fashion preparation.

Sunday we did laundry and although I barely had a clean thing to wear, I was the best dressed person in the whole place. And, forgive me, but I felt like a princess in a meth lab. Apparently, the bag-lady-ness has caught on rather well in these parts. Although I must say, there are definitely different levels of it, most of which I would never stoop low enough to adopt on a daily basis. In public.

Living loose like an old hippie has just made me appreciate the times I can style my hair, wear nice outfits, apply eye makeup and sport some jewelry. Being comfortable does not mean I've neglected my hygiene or my manners.

I'm still a lady.
Though in the quiet of my little forest home, it's bag-lady-ness at its best...