This morning, like always, I tripped into Starbucks. Mind you, I never go through the drive-thru, because I enjoy the opportunity to chat with all the Starbucks staff. Besides, half the reason I go to Starbucks is for the ritual of talking to everyone like I know them.

We ask about each other's lives. They ask me how business is. I ask them how them about their families. It's quite a nice little ritual.Today, as I was paying for my Gingerbread Latte, with only three pumps instead of four, one of the girls commented about how lovely I smell. Perfume being one of my addictions, I profusely thanked her and then set about trying to mentally establish the perfect scent for her. After we settled on a few different ones to test, she finished what she was going to say earlier--before I jumped on her with my perfume tirade--which was that not only do I always look incredibly well-groomed, but I am always so well dressed and classy.

Though I thanked her profusely, I was mentally snorting gingerbread latte through my nose. Me?! Well-dressed and classy?! The woman who frequently rolls out of bed a mere twenty minutes before she has to go to work. Me! The person who will get by with wearing the same top, all week long, simply paired with different skirts. Me! The female known for consistently dumping coffee on myself in the parking lot. Now THAT'S CLASS!

As I left, in all my well-dressed and classy glory, I thought that perhaps next to dressing in Starbucks t-shirts and faded black, I didn't look so bad after all.