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It feels like home to me.

I'm not that good of a fancy girl although I fear it's a great disappointment to my daughter. One must don fancies from time to time but Fancy is relative. My fancy rarely includes heels or other such hurty footwear. Getting fancied up makes me feel like a cat in a room full of rockers. I literally embrace comfort in thick terrycloth robe form. If it weren't so socially inappropriate, I would wear slippers everywhere because why wouldn't all footwear be luxurious?

What I really like is jammies. Soft and old. New and crisp. Delicious, warm and cozy.

Time was, I couldn't get fancy enough. Football games, camping, doctor appointments or even shopping for more fancies. I never met an occasion I didn't accessorize. "I'm not dressed until I'm overdressed" was my preteen anthem.

A ludicrous and embarrassing example: Red crop pants and a brightyellow yellow blouse combined with enormous white beads, an enormouser white sash and white capezios and I'm all set for volleyball at summer camp. This ensemble would've looked delicious on a hamburger. Additionally, my hair was new wave fabulous and Simon Le Bon could not have desired more.

Clearly, my frontal lobe was underdeveloped. I can't imagine what that person was thinking although it eases my mind as I observe the curious fashion choices of my Beautiful Daughter.

I'm cozy and I don't care who knows it. Judging by the contents of my laundry basket, it appears I may have overcorrected.

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