A rose by any other size…
You may have noticed I’ve been doing a wee bit of shopping lately. Like most mothers, I put my children’s needs ahead of my own, often, and while they run around dressed like little Gap models, I am often still sporting the jeans I bought in college. But now that I have A JOB (did I mention I got a job? No? Well I did!) my shopping habits have changed a little bit.
Unemployed shopping: Head for the clearance rack. Look only for items I need. Agonize over price. Purchase only if 80% or more off, and under $5. Feel guilty.
Employed shopping: Head for the clearance rack. Look at anything pretty. Agonize over price. Purchase if it’s really pretty. Call girlfriend on the way home and say “Guess what I just bought!”
So I’ve acquired a few new things, and I’ve been dealing with mountains of laundry, and as a result I’ve been surveying my wardrobe. And I’ve arrived at an inescapable conclusion:
The people who determine the sizing for women’s clothing smoke a whole lotta crack.
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You are so passive-aggressive
Hey, I met you halfway on the garbage thing. I relented and took it out last night even though it was cold outside and I was already in my slippers. And I do truly appreciate your help in making sure it was the trash itself and not a dying rodent hiding in my kitchen. Things smell better in there and I’m quite relieved.
But do you think there might’ve been a better way to express your displeasure? Having a fellow choir member lean over and whisper, “Hey… I read your post yesterday… so… what kind are you wearing today?” when I’m trying to flip to the correct hymn and get into a pious mood is a bit much, don’t you think?
Sheesh.
Are you there, God? It’s me, Mir.
I know I don’t always turn to you when I should. And I know that sometimes I don’t always make the right choices. Also, I tend to speak up only when I need a favor. I know. I’m working on it; all of it. I am.
Now. I solemnly swear to take out the garbage first thing in the morning. Please, please, let that be the source of the smell in the kitchen. I know you’re busy, and everything, but I don’t ask for much. Um, okay, well, I ask for lots of things. But I would really, really appreciate it if it’s just my garbage reeking and not a decaying rodent trapped in the wall.
See you at church in the morning, pal.
Can’t buy me love
Boots of Power: $80 on clearance.
Pretty paper for my resumes: $5.
Rawhide for the dog/pony: $1.
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Complicated
No, I did not buy the $96 purse. In fact, I giggled myself silly and the shoppers around me moved a little further away, with looks of mixed disdain and fear while they did so.
(Dad, stop reading now. You’ve been warned. Turn back. The rest is boring, anyway.)
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Good taste
You have to be a special kind of talented to walk into Marshall’s and pick up a purse–on clearance–that’s still $96.
Gifted Touched in the head
He Had a Dream… So Do I! (Sent home in the completed work folder yesterday.)
My Dream Is…
that anumuls wod have anuf water and nether have to die. I hate hunters. they kill anumuls. I do not eat meat1 because I am a vetutairyin2. I eat salid insted of tercy on thanksgiveing3. I do not eat fish4 because there anumuls. and martin loother king was alive agen because he was a great man5.
Still me
Signs that I am still my usual weird and neurotic self in spite of my fabulous new job which I am not talking about except for the part where I can’t stop mentioning it:
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Because they don’t all have polka-dots
Well, the countdown is on. It looks like I have about a week and a half to get my life in order before I return to the ranks of Those Who Work For A Living. That should be enough time to accomplish everything I meant to do during the previous 15 months of unemployment hell, right? Right?? Hello…?
No matter. Small multicolored animated birds and butterflies accompany me wherever I go, these days. They flit and swoop around my head and sing Disney tunes–which does get a little bit old–and titter in the most charming way in reaction to any of life’s little roadblocks.
Snow day (yesterday)? Teehee! Let’s go play outside! Two hour delay (this morning)? Tralala! What fun! Hair clippers bit a little chunk out of Monkey’s ear? Um… Well, okay, even the animated harbingers of happiness did look a little dismayed when that happened. But only for a minute. They were back to their jubilant flitting in no time. Handsome boy with a fresh haircut, they marvelled. And doesn’t he look tough with that little ear nick? Oh yes he does! Laaaaaaaaaaalala!
So you can see how I’m just groovin’ along… going with the flow, as someone near and dear to me likes to say. And I’m perfectly happy this way. The birds and butterflies aren’t even creeping me out all that much, and so far I’ve resisted the urge to warble a wistful song into a well.
But I draw the line at realizing that every single laundry basket I own is sitting around my room with clean laundry in it, and every family member is participating in a rousing round of “dig for undergarments” each morning because all of our drawers are empty. It’s time to get my feet back on the ground, and get some things done. I’m wearing my last clean pair of polka-dotted panties and the solid color ones are a bitch to spot amongst everything else in the baskets.
Negotiation
Her: I want toast.
Me: Okay.
Her: No, wait. I want french toast for lunch. No toast now.
Me: Okay. How about a banana?
Her: Apple.
Me: How about a banana?
Her: Apple.
Me: Hey, I know! How about… a banana!
Her: I. Want. An. Apple.
Me: Okay. I’m not cutting it up for you.
Her: Fine. I’ll have a banana.
Me: Excellent choice.
Who knew motherhood would give me everything I needed to prepare me for the subtleties of contract negotiations? I’m so ready for this afternoon’s call.