There’s something sexy about a man who reads the morning paper, likes his coffee black and pays our bills on-time. So… grown-up.
I don’t look like a grown-up… not even close. At the moment, I’m wearing a green shirt with orange tights… and brown boots. And maybe a purple headband. Oh, and my eye shadow might have glitter in it. (Don’t judge.) And how many times did I just say the word “and?” I suppose I don’t write like a grown-up, either.
But let me tell you something… I’m starting to feel like a grown-up. Know how I know?
I don’t sleep in anymore. I watch the Today show. I go down the property to let out and feed my chickens. On my way back to the house, I pick-up stray tangerines they’ve pecked off the tree. (Yes, this counts as yard work.) And since the tangerines are perfectly unharmed, I take them inside and use them for breakfast.
Breakfast is a daily multi viy-tah-mihn, and it’s chased down with a green smoothie I even blend myself. By the time I get to the office, I feel like Superman. I prance down the hall (in my orange tights) winking at my peers. I sometimes even do that slow-motion double-gun-shake-thing with my hands. (See also: I don’t act like a grown-up.)
Baby steps, right?
And for the record, I like my coffee black, too.