Ah, the glamourous life of a chef. Everyone loves you and wants to come to your restaurant to eat your food. They start coming at 10:00 in the morning and don't leave until you kick them out at 2:00 am. Being a chef is full of many a late night, and I look far from glamourous when I get up the next morning after being at the restaurant until 3:00 am.



Like my nice matching pajamas? Yes, that is a pink fuzzy cupcake robe and those are red fuzzy snowmen pajama pants. I do not possess a lick of fashion sense when putting on whatever warm things possible when I get home ridiculously late at night.



I hadn't even bothered to shower when I got home. My feet are still dirty from the day before.



Don't judge me, I'm comfy.



Oh, yes, that magazine I'm reading may be called "Glamour" but my life is usually pretty far from that ideal. When I'm not in my chef coat, I'm either passed out from exhaustion or lounging about in my pajamas, unless I'm at Peter's house. Half the time I'm passed out from exhaustion when I'm there, too. (I promise a post with all the juicy details will be up soon!)



But what does some silly magazine know about being glamourous?



For all they know, I very well could be the most glamourous girl in the world.



After all, I'm Sierra the Barefoot Girl, and I've got the red toe nail polish to prove it.

I especially like this shot:


Can you please make more closeups of your soles? I'd like to see every wrinkle, every line on your beautiful soles, both clean and black!!