No Room in the Mud

The other day, I got off from work and headed over to Academy for a new pair of shoes. I'd been talking to a friend, and he asked me what type of shoes I was getting. I told him I only owned two types (Crocs, and running shoes!) He suggested a pair of heels. I looked at my phone with disgust and managed to set it safely back down on the center console of the car without chunking it out the window. It's not his fault. He doesn't know me, entirely. Seriously, though.... Heels?! **gag**

So the conversation continued... when was the last time I dressed up? Why don't I dress up? What if I was going somewhere that required me to look "presentable?" All very valid questions, mind you. However, anyone that has ever known me, knows that I've never fit into one of societies molds. WHY do I have to dress up? "Do it for you!" They said... But why? I don't like it. Why would I force myself to do something I don't like? I can't stand dresses... I can't stand strappy sandles with dangly jewels... I can't stand makeup. I can't stand wearing my hair down... (My poor husband, I know.) I'm sure he'd appreciate seeing me be feminine from time to time.

I've heard that "Dressing up begins at age five, and never truly ends." I don't think I got that gene. Shopping puts me in a horrible mood - unless I'm shopping for someone else. I absolutely LOVED serving in the military. For 12 years, I knew exactly what I'd wear from one day to the next. My closet was lined in uniforms and pajama pants. And for the days when I absolutely HAD to wear something else, I had blue jeans and hoodies. (still do.)

There's no room in the mud for glitter. I love rainy, Saturday mornings... when I can throw on some sweats and old sneakers and grab the dog and take off for a walk and let the Lord cleanse me. I avoid places with dress codes that require skimpy black dresses and heels. I'm beyond blessed to have a job that doesn't require hairspray and perfume. For as long as I can remember, I've preferred dirt under my nails, rough skin on the bottom of my feet, and the idea that whoever would fall in love with me - would do so for what is inside of me rather than what I look like if I do or don't dress up. (Cause I'm pretty freakin' awesome, if you take the time to know me.)