There Goes the Neighborhood

From the time we stepped out of the cab into our new life, we noticed that we look very different than other people here.  In general, people here are dressier, fancier.  In our particular neighborhood, everyone is dressed nice, at all times.  The only exception to this is when you are "exercising" or as I like to call it walking fast down the street in yoga pants.   I have almost considered buying a bunch of athletic looking clothes so  I look like I fit into at least one of the two categories.

I have always said I would love to live somewhere that people dress fancy.  "If I lived somewhere where I could dress up I would, and I would wear hats and crazy headbands," has long been my saying.  I did wear dresses and try to dress up for a while.  Having a toddler means not having the time to stand at the vanity and make yourself look like a million bucks. There comes a point where you just want to throw yourself in something comfortable and walk out the door.  This is what I have been doing lately.  This is also what has made me look like a vagrant.   It is fair to say that this week, at least, I have been the most ill kept person roaming the streets.

Finn stands out because he is 2.   He also gets noticed because his blonde hair.  There are not many  pale, blonde headed kids running around.   People get a kick out of him, as he is usually carrying a ball,  a car, or an umbrella.

 I have decided that Tosh absolutely cannot cut his hair. I love watching him head off to work in a sea of suits in his jeans and shoulder length hair.  I do not recall that we have seen anyone with facial hair other than Tosh's "friend", this guy we kept running into when we first got here. I, in my head, decided that he and Tosh should become best friends because they both dressed casual, had beards, and had that "different" look.   As time passed, we ran into him a few more times and it become apparent to both of us that he was a wanderer.  We don't see him much anymore.

For some reason beyond my understanding, other people's hair does not respond to this humidity like my family's does.  The girls I see have perfect hair.  My hair has started looking like a cheap wig.  I am not talking a cheap wig that you would buy at a wig store. I am talking a 12.99, sold at Spencers, sheds everywhere, Halloween wig.

People also do not seem to sweat as profusely as my bunch. There are men in suits and ties walking down the street looking less sweaty than me in half as much.   The only other girl I have seen noticeably sweating, was the "lady" that asked me, "You know the guy that blah blah and the girls blah blah that does that thing?  Will you tell him to quit it?"  She was sweaty, really sweaty.

I can imagine that the people that live in all the fancy houses behind our apartments see us walking down the street, the long haired hippy, the sweaty girl in denim shorts, and the little boy with scabs on his knees and shoes on the wrong feet and think, 'There goes the neighborhood."