Mr. Rogers

At the end of my work day, I begin my Mr. Rogers routine. I sink down into the driver's seat of my truck and breathe a sigh of relief. Another work day, done. Yes! I roll the windows down and decide on a radio station. My work shoes come off and I drive barefooted home. When I walk through the front door at home, I kiss my honeys then absentmindedly drop my keys somewhere in the dining room that I am assured of not being able to find in the morning.
Walking to the bedroom, I hang my purse up, and, sometimes I swear that song will start playing in my head - "...Oh, it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day in the neighborhood...", for I am already pulling off those business casuals and ready to slip on my homey comfortables. I understand Mr. Rogers now. I'm on his same wavelength - let me tell you, work clothes are not my thing either. Finally, my hair goes up and now it's time to get my drink on. Plus you know Mr. Rogers had a little drinky drink because soon after he changed clothes, he'd hop on his little red train and ride into neverland.