If I Ever Run Into You, I'll Hope It's Not a Sunday Afternoon

I have come to notice that the more effort I put into my looks, the nicer people treat me. By people I mean men--in public places. I notice an astounding difference, actually, and I can’t help but think I should film my ugly vs. pretty encounters and submit it to 20/20 or something.
I have to admit that I have a really crappy weekend look. After putting in 5 mornings worth of effort into my hair, makeup and clothes for work, by the weekend I just stop caring. Plus, I’m usually hungover one if not two days of the weekend (It’s a terrible habit I’m trying to outgrow). So I have no shame schlepping to the grocery store in sweatpants, last night’s eye makeup remains, and some flip flops. Whatever. I’m hungover…don’t talk to me.

And I don’t have the best weekend wardrobe even if I tried. When I shop I usually just buy work clothes so my casual selection is kind of stretched out and faded.

But today I thought I’d do things differently since I went to an energizing outdoor yoga class this morning, I didn’t go out last night and I had no plans for the day. First I took a real shower with leg shaving and all. All women know that Sundays are NOT for shaving your legs. Then I decided to get ready as if I were going out on a Saturday night. I did my hair and makeup perfectly and put on a fancier shirt that requires a strapless bra be worn with it (strapless bras are also NOT Sunday appropriate). I even put on perfume and red, lip-plumping gloss. Now…where to go?

Well it’s not very glamorous, but here I am at Starbucks sitting outside in the 80 degree sun with my laptop and a 50 something year old guy just asked me if I needed anything else to drink. Not making this up!

When I first arrived I ordered a grande tea from the guy behind the counter who had those black plug things in his earlobes.

First he asked me if I would like two teabags in a sly way like he was breaking the rules and “hooking me up.” Oh, um, just one is fine.

Then he charged me for a tall instead of a grande and asked if I would need an icecube in there to cool it down.

If I ever have to run into a store or to the gas station while I’m on my way to a bar, I seem to get this same special treatment. So, it’s official. If I would like to be treated nicer by men in public places, I will need to begin putting two hours of work into my looks before leaving the house. Oh and it won’t work at bars- you’re expected to look decent there. I will be the most put-together errand runner in town!

Nah. Too much effort. I’ll just stick to shoddy service, grande prices, one teabag and a burnt tongue.