my guests, it's all for the best

You've probably seen me. Pulling out of the parking lot in my station-wagon. I looked good. Or maybe not. Was my hair pulled up in a sloppy ponytail or did I have just the right look on my face that you thought maybe I was someone famous running errands that are even too banal for an assistant?

Perhaps I had just rolled down my windows and opened up the sunroof and you could hear some poppy-girl anthem charging out of me like a teenager skipping class and proud of it. Maybe it wasn't that. Maybe you noticed my lipgloss or the only pair of shades I haven't lost or sat on.

No? You can't remember if I looked happy and tired at the same time or if I even had the radio on at all? Oh. You were trying to get my attention? To let me know I had left a full half-caff venti latte on the roof of my car...

Well. You obviously don't know me very well. Because I meant to do that.