I Took Down My Christmas Tree…

I would hope that through our time together thus far that you have learned that more often than not, I am a HOT MESS!  Like truly.  I have never been the girl that has her act fully together, although I truly like to think that I do.  I am the girl who unknowingly has chocolate frosting smeared down her shirt or shiny McDonald’s hash brown lips.  I would say the best way to characterize someone that is a hot mess would be someone who is going through every day life being awkward without even realizing it.  I am the epitome of a hot mess.

Case in point, I took down my Christmas tree THIS WEEK.  Yes, it was still up.  Yes, I am fully aware that it is February.  And if I’m being honest, really the only reason I took it down is because my mom is visiting and she came for Christmas 2 months ago and I could not bare the laughter that would ensue had my Christmas tree remained in the corner of my living room through the duration of BOTH of her stays.  No no, it had to come down.

The ridicule that comes from being a hot mess is silent.  It’s silent because no one (*cough other than me*) publicizes that they are, in fact, a hot mess.  No one else would tell people that they wake up at 2am, can’t get back to sleep so they stand with the refrigerator door open eating cold risotto from the dish.  These aren’t the things we see when we are scrolling through our instagram feed.  Nope.  No way.  Instead we see the perfectly crafted and photographed day-before picture of plated risotto goodness.  Not the walk-of-shame version of our favorite foods which do, in fact, taste so much better cold straight from the pan at 2 in the morning.

So here’s the point I’m getting at.  I enjoy hot mess stories more than I enjoy the posed stories.  I appreciate the “I rubbed a candle on my wrist because I ran out of perfume” stories.  I relate to the “I used a sharpie as eyeliner today” stories.  Why?  Because my first reaction to these stories is OH THANK GOD I’M NOT ALONE!  Perfectionism is overrated.  I used to strive for perfectionism but now I realize… it’s just not gunna happen.  I am still and will likely forever be the girl with a stain on her shirt and I’m proud to know who I am.

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