Tres chic? Non!

I will never be an elegant woman.
I've long suspected as much, but tonight I confirmed it. The epiphany came to me as I was walking Indy, my dog. First, there's no way to elegantly walk an exuberant, leash-tugging, wildly panting schnauzer.
I did a brisk head to toe appraisal: this morning's eyeshadow smeared across my eyelids; layers of hair lofting upward with every gust of wind; nails mostly OK, but darned if I can give up biting my thumbnails.
And my outfit? Well, that sealed the deal. One T-shirt featuring a giant chicken looming over the Capitol building. Two blue socks, one printed with little dog pawprints (cute, yes - but not elegant), the other plain blue. The battered gray sneakers I call my Chuckie Finsters, because one of them squeaks with every step, just like the shoes of the "Rugrats" character.
The entire ensemble was accented nicely by the small orange bag I carried, filled with... Well, I was walking a dog; you figure it out.
Once upon a time I dreamed wistfully of acquiring elegance. I wanted to sweep into a room gracefully, more like a swan, less like Jerry Lewis. I wanted to be as calm as a reflecting pool, lithe as a reed, with a musical speaking voice and manners to fit all occasions, a regular Yooper Meryl Streep.
And therein lies my quandry. I am 100 percent Yooper, zero percent Streep.
Truthfully, I like the idea of elegance more than the practice of it. I don't like wearing high heels, I feel like an imposter when my hair is all done up, and I'm lousy at making charming small talk. I'd rather pull on my Eeyore pajama bottoms and Phil Collins T-shirt and eat ice cream right out of the carton than slip into a too-tight silk gown and pinchy shoes and nibble caviar on crackers.
I'm not less than just because I lack certain ladylike attributes. I may be more crass than class, but what you see is the truest, realest me. I may not be at the top of anyone's invite list for a cocktail party, but if someone's ordering pizza and rustling up a game of dominoes, I'm your girl. Especially if I can come over wearing my Eeyore jammie pants and Phil shirt.