Lip Gloss v. Dying Alone: The Epic Battle

One thing I've learned about living in the urban-hub of my city is this: Kitty Kat, there is NO time that heels and lip gloss are not REQUIRED BY LAW when out and about in this city.

They say the best revenge is living a good life... and while I'm not really some ice-pick wielding, bunny-boiling, voodoo doll enthusiast, it wouldn't hurt to run into your ex while you're rolling in your A-game. 

For instance, this is how I would have LIKED to have looked three weeks ago at my local grocery store when I ran into The Big Bad.

Instead, this is what I was rocking...Awesome.  Because, you know, nothing screams 'Look how much more fabulous I am since breaking up with you 2 years ago!!!' better than a frizzy pony tail and an economy size box of kitty litter, zucchini and moisturizing hand lotion.  Fantastic.

But beyond my little run-in with The Big Bad (which basically ended with my throwing myself under the check-out counter and army-crawling my way out the door), it's not the first time I've ran into someone at exactly the wrong time. 

And every time, this is like something I wish I were doing:


And this is the reality of what I'm really doing:


And after watching way too many episodes of 'What Not to Wear' (The WNTW Philosophy: sweat pants are of the devil and apparently wearing six inch heels and a binding mini-skirt to run up to the convenience store is 'just as easy' as throwing on a hoodie and running shoes. I can tell you, this statement is FALSE.) and reading way too many advice columns on snagging Mr. Right (OMG, did you know you can meet the perfect guy in the veggie aisle? Or Starbucks? Or the gym?), I have majorly freaked myself out.

Because, I don't know about you... but this is usually what I look like at the end of a workout at the gym...
And this is what my 'research' tells me I should look like...
Is it true? Do you always need to be at the top of your game? Throw on a cocktail dress to go buy some tampons? *sigh.  Well, I guess so, if you don't want to end up an old mumu wearing spinster, living with your 47 fuzzy babies. 

Geez.

But am I willing to chance it and become this? 

I think not.

I better clutch it out and throw an extra tube of lip gloss in my purse.