I had a sitter. Can you imagine how excited I was? A SITTER! OH THE GLORY! But to reach this nirvana, I had to make it through my day which began with the dog geting sick at 1am, a nightmare at 2:30, an elbow to the nose from now sleeping nightmare sufferer at 3 and a snorning, blanket stealing hubby at 4. I finally gave up and slept on the couch with a blanket until 5:30 when my day truly started.
I moved through my chores which included: a workout, groceries, soccer, cleaning, the beginning of laundry, and lunch. Oh yes, we had to haul six yards of dirt to my flowerbeds and garden. In the end, I smelled of earth, Lysol and Febreeze. But it didn't matter, I was going out.
At 4pm I settled in for a long hot shower, smiling in spite of the stiffening mucles and groaning bones while I washed up. I grabbed my comb that lays in a miscellaneous basket on my counter; quickly running it through my clean happy hair. After applying a little make-up, I cranked up the blowdryer and began. Shakin what my Mamma gave me and singing to beat the band, I checked my clock. I was only a few minutes behind. No problem. I picked up my brush and started to pull it through my mop. It stopped and literally was "stuck" in my hair. It was standing straight up and my scalp was tingling...not in a good way. Grabbing the comb, I studied it as if it had been made of bat guano. Then I stared accusingly at the basket trying to figure out what happened. I saw it: my toothpaste had actually dripped onto my comb. I had styled my hair with this marvelous white paste. My mane felt like Play-dough that had been sitting in a window sill for three days: grainy, dry, sticky...ICK.
Any extra time was gone. I half ran-half fell down the stairs in my robe, heels and make-up (and let's not forget my hair) dialed for delivery and wrote down numbers while dishing out money. I scaled the steps two at a time and hopped BACK into the shower. I was now in a full dressing sprint which included the "pull-up your pants dance" (a nice leap with a twist while grunting and fastening your britches) and the ever popular shoe-skip (you bounce about on one foot while putting on your shoes, almost knocking out your teeth with your knee or coming close to twisting your ankle...not recommended with strappy high-heeled sandals). But having only whacked my shoulder on the door jam on the way down the hall, I considered myself good to go and lucky. My husband was sitting on the couch chatting with the delivery man, the sitter and the kids.
"Well, she's finally ready." he said and slapped his knee. My wish at this moment was to bend at the waist and high-kick him several times in the head with that "Wha-PCH!" sound which can only be heard in kung-fu movies. My smile remained tight as we headed out the door. "I'm almost there" I reminded myself. Hopping in the car, my charming dreamboat said "Let's put the top down." My teeth are dry from the grin plastered on my face as we speed off in my convertible. I'm glad I redid my hair. Now, because we are ten minutes late, he is driving like a bat outta Hell. I am trying to apply lipstick. It seems he is swerving at unGodly speeds to ensure he tags each pothole and railroad track on the way.
We arrive. My hair looks as if I have styled it with toothpaste. It is sticking out all over the place. My eyelashes are all over my face and not only does it look like I have a fruit punch mustache but there are bugs in my teeth. GRRRRREAT!
My girlfriend opens the door.
"You look fabulous!" She lies. I hug her and try not to cry. Her husband is opening wine as fast as he can and hands the first glass to me. I didn't even taste it and asked for a second with a winded gasp.
I got my night on the town and the company, the food, and the laughter made up for all the mess beforehand. As I always say, "I'll get there....." I just can't guarantee the condition.
Thanks for stopping in. Enjoy your day.
