Blogging in Panties: WWRPD?

When Dan Rather got busted for gleefully reporting Bush's tainted service record 10 days or so before the election, remember the quote by the CBS defender? He dismissed bloggers as people sitting in their underwear writing opinions they form on the journey to and from the refridgerator.

I resemble that notion, so what? Is he just jealous that he must suit up for work? But I digress...

Today while reading news and blogs and research and general "stuff" between bathroom breaks and downing anti-oxidants and probiotics by the handful trying to keep the ick at bay, my lovely neighbor and her five beautifully dressed girls came to the door. How nice! A neighborly visit.

Only problem, I'm sitting here in a long college T-shirt and panties (shirt covered panties) with my sick kids on the couch and stuff strewn everywhere because no one has the energy to clean up.

The front door is between me and my closet.

There are choices at this juncture.

Choice #1) I could pretend the door bell didn't ring and sit still hoping I won't be seen imagining they are a T-Rex and will only detect me if they see movement. Considerable risk here: the neighbor needs to only slide one foot to her left and peek through the office window and see me, moving or not. Or, a kid could run screaming into the office (passing said front door) and say "Our neighbors are at the front dooorrrrr!!!!"

Choice #2) Glide past the front door hind end following, go to my closet, pick out suitable clothing and return 3 minutes later and pretend I did not hear the door and act suprised to see neighbors: Why hello darlings, care for some tea?

Or, Choice #3) I could answer the door in my undergarmets and fashionably distressed T-shirt, invite them in, hang my head in shame and mumble some senseless apology for sickness, messiness and whatnot, shuffle to the bedroom while inwardly groaning about the cheerful first impression I worked so hard to create last week (new neighbors) in their front yard being flushed down the toilet and being replaced by my actual, style-free, schlumppy, pathetic and right now, sick self.

Guess which opportunity I chose?

Do you think a really nice home-baked chocolate cake will erase the memory?

WWRPD? (What Would Rich People Do?) Link