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"Just once, I&amp;#039;d like to have a female around here to check me over before I go out in public with white deodorant marks on my shirt and uneven eyebrows. But I live with three males, and either they don&amp;#039;t notice these things, or they don&amp;#039;t care. Or both. I, too, don&amp;#039;t notice these things, but I do care. Not enough to do a mirror check before I race out the door in the morning, but enough to be embarrassed to discover in a public setting that my shirt is buttoned all wrong. Or that one earring is missing. Or that my lip gloss is smudged. When I was growing up, I had my mom as Quality Control. &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re going out like that?&amp;quot; she&amp;#039;d ask, and then point to my collar, which was half sticking up and half sticking down. In college, my roommates usually would speak up. &amp;quot;Your zipper&amp;#039;s down!&amp;quot; one would shout as I walked down the crowded dorm hallway. Gee. Thank you. But ever since I got married, I&amp;#039;ve been on my own, and I&amp;#039;ve done a so-so job of it. I&amp;#039;ve even let my hairstylist take over the management of my hair to relieve me of the stress of dealing with it.  &amp;quot;Are you growing your hair out?&amp;quot; asked a neighbor at the school-bus stop. &amp;quot;I dunno. I&amp;#039;m not in charge of my hair,&amp;quot; I answered, before spotting blue ball point pen on my sleeve. But only celebrities and babies have people to dress them, so I&amp;#039;m stuck with myself \u2013 and three males who don&amp;#039;t know crooked eyebrows when they&amp;#039;re looking right at them. So much for Quality Control. Maybe I&amp;#039;ll just stay home today. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/parenting/a1934/good-grief-blog-071707/?src=shelter_footer>