I feel pretty, oh-so-pretty. I feel pretty and witty and gay!

A few days ago, one of the Rear D soldiers stopped me to tell me I looked very nice. I was kind of floored by it -- I'm just not the type of girl that your average 20 year old stops to compliment. You know, I'm old and I have my large post-baby ass to contend with. So I did a mental checklist:

• Bra on? Check.
• Boob appropriately checked into bra? Check.
• Nipples in non-cold, locked-down position? Check.
  
• Bra type that supports against stripper-like jiggling? Check.
• Butt crack safely stowed in jeans? Check.

So I dismissed it. Probably just an ass-kisser. But then about 5 minutes later, a friend of my husband's complimented me, too. Told me my eyes shined. And as he said it, another person, a spouse, concurred. At this point, I wasn't taking any chances. I ran to the restroom to look at myself and figure out what the hell was going on.

There I was, reflected in the mirror. I was wearing my usual uniform of jeans, t-shirt and sneakers. My make-up was the old regular routine -- a little mascara and chapstick. So what was all the fuss about?

Wait. I forgot. I did do something different. I wore earrings. That's it. And I didn't even really put them on. I threw them on as a joke to entertain Munchkin as I sorted through my jewelry box and the piles of crap I never wear earlier that morning.

Earrings, people. Who'd a thunk it? Someone remind me of this next time I start obsessing over whether or not it's time to buy a pair of Spanx. It's always the little things.