Oh how the mighty have fallen

Remember how I said I care about how I look? And how my house looks? And how I knew that was bad?
Well funny, funny world.
I am sick.
Snot, germs, walking petri dish sick.
So my house is gross.
I am gross.
Glad you can't see old Tapper with her un-straightened hair in a messy pony tail.
Which, in a round-about way, brings up something that has been aggravating me for two days now ever since I saw a John Deere commercial.
I don't usually care about John Deere commercials, but I noticed this one.
It starred a thirty-something woman working in her yard with a fine sheen of sweat, dirt scattered across her perfectly fitted jeans and her curly tendril hair in a messy pony tail that reminded me a little of Taylor Swift. She had an I-have-no-idea-how-sexy-I-look-because-I-just care-about-my-landscaping air about her and I sort of wanted to kick whoever heads up John Deere marketing.
Because now we are so supposed to look carelessly beautiful while irrigating and edging?
People, what is going on?
Women get no break. None. Zippo. We are supposed to be perfect in our imperfections now.
I would snap a picture of myself in my old San Fransisco tee and my messy hair looking nothing like Taylor Swift, but then I run into the sick picture dilemna.
I went through that in the hospital.
Do you smile for a sick picture?
Or do you just look plaintively at the camera?
I always try to smile and then later I look at the pictures and remember how the IVs felt like fire going up my veins and how I hurt everywhere and I think, "Stupid girl. What are you smiling about?"
So to avoid the whole question, I'll just tell ya- I look about as sexy sick as I would driving a tractor. I'll leave the rest up to you.

:)

P.S. Mom, thanks for the soup and cookies. Big hit.