Dear Universe,

Please stop sending people into my life to tell me how tired I look.  I freakin’ know already.

Luv,

Moi

In the past week I have had three different people, on THREE DIFFERENT DAYS, tell me how exhausted I look.  WTF?! Besides the fact that no one ever wants people to tell them that they resemble a haggard old bag, what purpose exactly did the comments serve?  If I had been complaining about how tired I’ve been, then I would concur that I opened myself up to the comment. It is just as bad as asking me when my baby is due. IT IS NOT A BABY. IT IS FAT, OKAY?

But I didn’t invite comments. All I did ON ALL THREE OCCASIONS was walk into a room.  Suddenly I sucked all the energy and livelihood from the area and compelled the three ladies to comment on my apparent lack of loveliness.

Me. The TIRED. OLD. HAG.

The crappy thing about this is that I haven’t been feeling all that tired or uninspired. No more than usual, anyway.

Jeez!

I need some Retinol! I need some antioxidants! Bring me my BOTOX!  (No really. Bring it to me . I’m totally open to it. Perhaps I should have a dermatologist sponsor my blog and also, of course, my face? I could be a social experiment of sorts.)

The lesson here?  Um, no clue.  Except to compel you to NOT COMMENT ON A LADY’S EXHAUSTION UNTIL SHE TELLS YOU TOO.

Got that, Mr. Universe?