My goal this fall is to stop wearing “yoga pants” (shameless euphemism for pajamas pants) to the grocery store.  Or to Target.  Or to the Post Office.  Or–dare I admit it?–to the mall.

My goal this fall is to start dressing like the forty-year old woman I am instead of the twenty-five-year old girl I think I am.  My goal this fall is to put a little more effort into my appearance even when no one else is looking–which is a good idea since these days, no one else is ever looking.  (Actually, No One Else hasn’t been looking since 1995.)  My goal this fall is to stop using “but I’m only cleaning my house today” as an excuse to look like a train wreck every day.

True, I live a small life in a small town wherein the range of my travel starts at Walmart, loops around Costco and The Pita Pit, then ends at the public library, but this is no excuse to look like a bag lady every time I step out of my “car” (shameless euphemism for minivan.)  True, these errands are often done at the last minute on “cleaning day,” (which has somehow become every day), and so to pause for fussy personal grooming habits, like getting dressed, feels like a waste of precious vacuum and mop time.  True, most of my housework and errands are more easily done in cushy running shoes and an elastic waistband.  But for my fortieth fall, I have decided that the years in which personal comfort can coexist with looking half-decent are long, long gone.

I could pull off the yoga (pajama) pants and makeupless face in my twenties because, well, I was gorgeous back then.  (Dare to disagree with me.  Dare!)  And my early thirties brought with them the