Last night, I passed out with the light on, my glasses crooked, and a romance novel on my chest (shut up, I'm experimenting). I was also wearing my latest attempt at liquid eyeliner.
This morning, my lawn guy stops by to get his check from Saturday, as he mowed while I was out. I haven't actually brushed my hair yet, so I answered in my "my cats walk all over me" nightshirt, hair everywhere, and my eyeliner smudged like Siouxsie Sioux. He just grinned, fortunately. I dread to imagine what went through his head.
It was just a romance novel! Honest! Blame the author! She's the one who had an entire room rocking with laughter at Conestoga.