Yesterday, I went to breakfast with my folks.
We went to Snooze, the best place in my neighborhood (in ANY neighborhood) for breakfast.
Of course, there was an hour wait (but the pineapple upside down pancakes are sooo worth it). While we sat and waited and waited, we people-watched.
I realize Denver is a dress-down town, but it never ceases to amaze me when people just roll out of bed and come to a restaurant in their pajamas.
Or, next best thing, yoga pants. I own them. I love them. They're the next best thing to sweats (or not wearing pants at all). But not all of us should wear them out of the house.
The fellas were just as guilty, though I noted that one put on his FANCY sweatpants for breakfast. Impressive.
But there was one woman who was close to my age in yoga pants and who clearly rolled out of bed without even running her fingers through her hair before getting in the car and coming out to slum it with the locals.
My mother's diagnosis: Clearly, she's on drugs.
So put on some pants and run a brush through your hair, Denver. Or you run the risk of having nice ladies like my mom (who made an effort) think bad things about you. :)
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