Rouge: It's not just for harlots anymore!

(Does anybody call it "rouge" anymore? )
I've been a little scruffy lately. Let me explain. I found myself sitting on the couch the other day (how did I get here?) watching What Not to Wear and thinking, as secret footage of a contestant was shown, "She went out of the house like that?" Then I glanced down at my baggy-kneed exercise pants (which had certainly not been used for exercise that day), ran my fingers through my lank, greasy hair and wondered if perhaps I ought to consider my own appearance for a wee moment. I am well aware that I have inner beauty in abundance, but perhaps masquerading as a homeless person is not the best way to let that shine. A pajama day every now and again is nice, but when it becomes a daily thing for me, the grub starts to take its toll on my psyche. I've noticed I'm a lot less likely to stuff handfuls of Cheetos (or chocolate chips or couch Skittles) in my mouth when I've pulled myself out of slob mode. Taking a shower, putting on clothes I didn't sleep in and even slapping on a little makeup--it can lift my spirits! Then again, the quarters people tossed in my purse on trips to the grocery store came in handy...