Thanks, Hon, for bringing your friend home between your two (yes 2) indoor soccer games tonight. I love that sense of panic when I have to look down to see if I am wearing pants. Ah yes, my white yoga pants, the ones I may have been wearing for three days straight (or not, who can remember?) the ones that make my butt look extra jiggly. Now I see that they are splattered with baby food, because baby likes to sneeze while eating purees.
I really appreciated that your friend noticed me: “You look tired.” All I could say was, “Hmm, yeah, well…” Because the rest of that phrase might have sounded hostile (Yeah, well why don’t YOU try staying home ALL day with two tots, one of which has a runny nose and the other a penchant for saying (or screaming) “No” every time she is asked to do something. When (or if) you make it to 8 o’clock, which means, finishing the bath-dinner-bedtime rush, let’s see how refreshed YOU look!)
Next time, you could give me a head’s up so I could at least make myself presentable. Or better yet, you could not bring him at all, because “presentable” actually sounds like a lot of work at that time of evening.
You are lucky, by the way, that I was not crying into a pint (or gallon) of ice cream while I watched the heart-warming transformations in the “Biggest Loser” finale.
Yeah? Who’s the biggest loser now?
1 comment:
That is pretty much why I get all wide-eyed and terrified when the doorbell rings anytime after I get home from work. Chances are about 99% that I am in jammies (clean? maybe ... maybe not), and a mess of a house!
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