This morning I woke up with the deepest cheek pillow wrinkle you’ve ever seen, and I know I don’t drink enough water so I take full responsibility for the depth of the wrinkle. (It’s hard to blame a pillow wrinkle on someone else.)
I decided to head to the grocery store after Harper got on the bus, so my plan was to do whatever sort of dance it took to keep the right side of my face (the pillow wrinkle side) out of sight. (Life is full of exciting challenges.)
Because I banked a few reward coffees at Starbucks, I decided to cash one in before going to the store. (I have much more patience when it comes to scoping out unsweetened coconut and Medjool dates if I have a latte in my hand. (I’m slowly becoming the person I hoped I would never become. Please know that I’m wearing my running costume today, too. I ran once in the past year, and that’s because a snake crossed my path.))
Anyway, while in line at Starbucks, I tried my best to position the right side of my pillow-scarred face away from the other customers. Everything was going well until the guy behind me dropped his wallet, and his credit cards (along with a strange cup he brought with him) went flying. I rolled my eyes (I can’t control them sometimes) and then turned around to help him out.
As he thanked me, I noticed that HE DIDN’T HAVE HANDS.
And THAT’S when I started feeling like a jerk about my lame pillow wrinkle dance.
I found my coconut and dates, and I’ll be making pumpkin energy balls later this afternoon.