Why I'm a freak

Here is the conversation inside my head while getting ready for my date tonight. I was in the bathroom at work.

I am so late. Stupid work. I was supposed to be done before now. Ruin my whole evening. Wasn't even supposed to be here. Stupid work.

My hair is ridiculous. I look like a hockey player. I have wings front and back. Ugh. I need a haircut. No. I am not spending $30 to get my bangs cut.

I have 14 zits. Seriously. 14. On my forehead. I'm an adult and I have this many zits. Okay. I'm covering them with my bangs. That will work. No harm done.

Oh no. What if he moves my bangs out of my eyes in some hugely romantic gesture? I will be exposed. Okay. I will just swat him away - playfully. Not panicked at all.

OMG. Did I wash my hands? Please tell me I washed my hands. I couldn't have just put poop and baby powder under my arms. I can't remember. I am wearing poop and baby powder. I am an idiot. I can wash it off. It's not too late. I'm fine.

I have issues.