Yesterday afternoon I took my dog for a walk inside the gated community where I live. Most of the people are rich, fancy and attractive. In fact, many of the people who live in this area do not walk their own dogs; they have staff.
So there I was, looking like staff, wearing Old Navy lounge pants and a tank-top, listening to my IPod and walking my dog.
I noticed a few men walking my way and one of them waved to say hello. So I stopped, pulled out my ear pieces and said, “Oh, hi! How are you?”
He was a man who lived a few doors down from me. “I’m great,” he said, and then added, “You look well rested.”
I gave him a confused, “Thanks.” Then continued on my walk. I kept thinking, what the hell did that mean? You look well rested…
I analyzed. He is not that much younger than I am… who is he to say that to me. “You look well rested.” Was that supposed to be a compliment? Isn’t that something you would say to somebody old or sick? I was a little irritated.
I kept walking and thinking.
Well maybe I am well rested… Scott’s out of town. I’ve been enjoying my time alone… I’ve been doing fun things like going to Chelsea Handler and Alicia Keys. I’ve been enjoying my next book. I’ve been working hard and sleeping well.
By the time I got back to my house, I had convinced myself that I was “well rested” and that I was probably looking as good as I had been feeling about myself and my accomplishments while Scott was away.
Besides that, I was rested; I had taken a quick nap about an hour before I took Shorty on her walk.
So when I stepped inside, I turned to look in the mirror. I wanted to see what “well rested” looked like. I expected to see myself looking great…
I burst out laughing; I had mascara chunks and smudges under both eyes.
I must have napped harder than I thought… so he was right.
I looked well rested.