Some women are always stylish no matter how casual or dressy the occasion.

Some women never spill their lattes on their white T-shirts.

Some women don’t have mascara smudged under their eyes within an hour of putting it on.

Some women can apply lipstick and know it’ll stay on their lips—not around them or on their teeth.

Some women can pay to get a manicure/pedicure and not fuck it up when they walk the 10 feet from the salon to their car.

Some women can do their hair in the morning and leave the house confidently knowing that it hasn’t deflated a nanosecond after turning from the mirror.

Some women know that it’s not about the perfect pair of shoes, or the right dress or the IT bag.

Some women are able to hold smart, witty conversations with perfect strangers without feeling stupid or insecure.

I’m not one of those women.

This is how I look at the end of the day

I am a bumbling hot mess most days, no matter how hard I try to get it right. Every white T-shirt I own has been stained by coffee, Diet Coke or my lunch. I wear a lot of black T-shirts now, but that still doesn’t solve the problem. By the time I get to work every morning my mascara has already smudged—and not in a sexy, smoldering way. It’s more like I got something in my eye and rubbed it hard. My lipstick is worn off before I’ve even had my first sip of coffee.

I try to keep my nails looking neat and nice but inevitably I smudge my manicure when I get in my car or pull on my seat belt. If I do my nails at home I manage to smudge them without even moving. I’ve also had to pull the occasional dog hair out of my setting polish. My hair goes flat within minutes, no matter how much hairspray I use to glue it into place.

My awesome shoes and handbags are usually a little dirty or scuffed and my jeans are always just a little too long.

When it comes to making small talk, I become mute.

I am clumsy and bump into walls, bruising my legs and elbows with alarming regularity.

I’m THAT chick, you know the one: No matter how dressed up I am, something is amiss, a little disheveled.

At 40 I’m more comfortable in my skin that I ever have been, but just once I’d like to walk in the door at the end of the day looking exactly as I did when I walked out that morning. No stains, not disheveled, makeup sort of in place, hair not looking like I napped on all day.

Maybe some day when I grow up it’ll happen.

But I doubt it…