Thursday, January 17, 2013

Follow the Thursday rules

Lately this mama has been making a bit more of an effort in the pulling-myself-together department . . . coordinating outfits instead of throwing on whatever stinks the least, using blush and mascara daily along with a little BB cream, and blowdrying my hair instead of air drying for the straw-hair look.  (No matter what I try, air dry = straw.  Scraggly straw.)

But today is Thursday, and I am rocking my day-after-work look like nobody's business.  Hair that I slept on post-shower pulled back in a headband, semi-clean clothes, and two layers of BB cream because the first was just not doing it.  Despite all of that, I HAD to get to Walmart for lasagna ingredients after the kid's naps, and so broke two Thursday laws that I didn't mention in last week's post: leaving the house and spending money.

(FYI, online shopping should be BANNED after being up all night.  I have yet to do anything stupid, but only because I can't remember how to push the right buttons on such meager sleep.)

At any rate, off we went to Walmart.  It seemed like everything was going to go smoothly . . . first we hit the clearance section to see if we could find Jude some manly dress-up trunk items.  We found him a great "gold" chain necklace, not much else there.  On to look at the goldfish, which Sophia said looked yummy.  Lasagna noodles, pasta sauce, bananas (no, the bananas are not going in the lasagna, but we get them EVERY time we go shopping) . . . time to check out.

And that's when it happened.

But first, let me clarify something.  I don't mind friends and family seeing me rock my Thursday look, and I don't mind strangers wondering about the crazy lady.  What I HATE, though, is running into casual acquaintances when I am looking like "THAT mom."  The one who hasn't looked in a mirror since 1993.

So when I recognized our family realtor in line behind us, I played dumb and looked away.  Snuck a quick peek back to verify . . . yep, it was her.  And she looked fab.  Slim and trim, rocking a totally pulled together outfit, with hair and makeup to boot.  Of course, her equally pulled together husband was with her, along with their super cute grandchild.

I have only seen the woman once since we bought our house, so I'm pretty sure she remembers Professional Laurel, not SAHM Laurel.  Pregnant, but always dressed in cute maternity business casual, hair done and face on.  So I thought maybe she just wouldn't recognize me.  One can always hope.

I paid for the groceries, loaded the last bag into the cart, and was almost home-free . . .

"Excuse me, do I know you?"

Thursday Laurel bears so much more resemblance to 1993 Mom instead of Professional Laurel that she couldn't even figure out who I was!  I looked at 40 houses with this woman!

The last time I looked this bad at Walmart I ran into the class clown from my high school days, decked out in his Sunday best with his stunning wife.  Meanwhile I was actually wearing SWEATPANTS and one of John's Tufts sweatshirts.  The fact that Tufts was written across the front was the only way I survived that encounter.  Though the giant patch of baby vomit I later realized had been on my shoulder the whole time may have negated the "Tufts."

Today I managed to garble out the minimum smalltalk required and then scuttled out the door as fast as I could.  I suppose the saving grace was that my sister had tamed Sophia's hair into cute ponytails today, so at least the kids didn't look like little homeless waifs.  (Their pulled togetherness on Thursdays is totally dependent on Mal's making it happen.)

I suppose the life-lesson here is to follow my Thursday rules.  If I hadn't left the house to spend money this would not have happened.  What was I thinking that I let myself break two at once?!  At any rate, all I can do is hope that maybe she was struck with a sudden case of temporary short-sightedness and didn't really get a long enough look to gather it all in.  I can imagine the conversation in the car . . .

"Who was that tired looking middle-aged lady you said hi to at the register?"

"Oh, she was a client a few years ago.  I helped her and her husband find their house . . . poor thing.  Motherhood sure has been rough on her."

All because I broke the rules.  Back to hibernation for me.

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