I was in a meeting last week and I looked down at my blazer (because blazers = profesh!) and noticed it was COVERED in dog hair. And maybe some dried yogurt stains. And maybe some dog hair actually IN the dried yogurt stains.

And I kind of laughed and took it off and threw it in my backpack (backpack ≠ profesh but it does = no back pain). And my coworker laughed along with me which was very kind of her not to be totally repulsed (she has a side hustle as a Popular Instagram Fashion Person). And here I was in a blazer that looked like I just wore it to a yogurt-making dog convention (an imaginary festival I would really like to attend).

38, amiright?

This embarrassment was the motivation I needed to finally go to the dry cleaner, where I took an entire, huge bag of shirts and dresses. My final bill? $80.

There’s this thing Kit does when she’s mad. She’ll frown, point to her belly, nod her head sharply and say, “Kit mad!”

When I got that bill, maybe I pointed to my mom belly, sharply nodded and whispered, “Dorothy mad.”

That $80 could have been much better spent randomly buying serums off of Sephora that I will use four times before giving up and shoving in my closet.

I know Millennials get a lot of shit but if they could get rid of the corporate dress code, or at least invent self-cleaning clothing, I’d consider them the Greatest Generation (sorry people who fought in WWII. But dry cleaning really is an expensive bitch).

So, friends. Here is what is going to happen.

1. I will never buy Dry Clean Only clothing ever again.
2. I will never buy pants or a dress without pockets ever again as I deeply desire pockets.

Do you ever look at middle aged women and wonder how they got so sad looking? It’s basically because we make a bunch of little decisions to save time and money (Shorter hair! More comfortable shoes! Glasses instead of contacts! Wash-and-wear clothing!) and the cumulative effect is … not great. But it is efficient! But not great.

Speaking of which, as I was writing this, this popped up as a sponsored post and I looked at them and was immediately repulsed … and intrigued. “I bet I could walk down the front steps in those while carrying Kit and my giant, non-professional backpack on the way to drop-off/work and not break my ankle and still look somewhat decent at work,” I thought.

Also, lol at 10 likes.

And that’s why, friends, you get married. Because your husband can’t divorce you because you go (so quickly!) from a somewhat-attractive young person to looking like a 45-year-old hostess at an upscale Italian restaurant located in the local strip mall (on your better days).