You ever go to the market and see that girl in the checkout line that looks like she’s been asleep for 39 days and has just found herself wandering the frozen foods section like a Lean Cuisine-crazed Rip Van Winkle? You know what I mean: She’s wearing her “comfy clothes.” Her sweatpants, the huge sweatshirt from the dream school she didn’t get into, and ugly, ugly footwear. Her hair is usually greasy, she’s wearing her her giant glasses instead of her contact lenses, and she’s just holding her wallet, phone and keys in one hand, instead of keeping them neatly in a purse. She has a coupon for Häagen-Dasz and a box of a Super Plus tampons under her arm.

And you think, Lord. How’d she let herself leave the house like that? Wasn’t there anyone there who loved her enough to tell her not to dress like she lives on an old couch in a stairwell at the local art college? How did she get to this point in her life??

I know how. First hand.

Today is my first day back to work after a month-long hiatus. God, it was wonderful. No work, no responsibility. Just me, the couch, my hobbies and, for the first time since I was in elementary school, over seven hours of sleep every night. In fact, I slept so much it was troubling. I would sleep through my alarm and have full conversations in the mornings without remembering them. I literally could not wake up! Which is probably a sign of how much sleep I needed to catch up on.

At first, I’d get up each day, dress in my nice jeans, a respectable shirt, and head out to run errands or visit friends. I quickly learned that doing laundry was taking away from my “Me” time, and so when I ran out of clothes, I would wear some of my sloppier shirts out of the house. Oversized shirts depicting the likenesses of movie characters and kitties. Shirts I usually only slept or worked out in. It was just a quick run to the ATM, to drop off a box at the Goodwill, maybe stop at Starbucks, so why look fancy?

Gradually, I began to feel that yoga pants were appropriate for more than yoga. And while I fought that urge at first, it wasn’t long until I was wearing them to dinners at friends’ houses and trips to Ralphs. If they were okay for a walk to the gym, they were okay for a walk to pick out frames at Aaron Brothers. Of course, I never wore these pants with my giant cat shirts. That would just be horrible.

And then it happened. After a full day of cooking and deeply necessary cleaning left my feet sore and achy, I bought a pair of Crocs. The least attractive looking shoe in the world. But also the most comfortable. Seriously comfortable. I tested them with another full day of standing at the stove and I felt terrific. This was the best $29.99 I had spent in awhile.

But it meant I didn’t want to wear anything else, and soon I was donning Crocs and yoga pants to grab groceries. In an act of caring and love, Paul stopped me from wearing a kitty shirt and Crocs to the Science Museum. He felt it would clash with my enormous, touristy camera.

The other night, the end of my hiatus fast-approaching, I was in the market purchasing a pile of frozen pizzas and some discount ground turkey. I walked through the freezer aisle and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I had a zit on my cheek and my hair was starting to curl under the weight of its own oil. I was wearing a t-shirt that featured Han Solo playing the guitar, a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of gravy-stained yoga pants. The hem of my left pant leg had been accidentally tucked into the back of the white socks I’d chosen to wear with my black Crocs. Who knows how long they’d been like that.

But I was relaxed and comfy, dammit, and that’s what vacation is all about.

So the next time you feel like scoffing at the slovenly girl buying nail polish remover and clearance wine, think twice. She’s relaxing.

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