Remember Jake Ryan in that 80's movie
Sixteen Candles? Well, I had a Jake. I think we all had
our own Jakes. But unlike Molly Ringwald in the movie, I didn't
get my Jake in the end. He had his own popular, beautiful
girlfriend. He was older, untouchable -- and uninterested. So of
course, I've always envisioned the day in the future when I would
run into my Jake and say Ha! See what you missed? Well, that day
was today, and a writer for a sitcom couldn't have scripted a
more disastrous scenario. (OK, I
could have had a huge zit on my face and a cart full of
feminine products, but still, it
was bad.)
It was a hot muggy day. The kids and I are sticky and crabby. I had to do a few errands and didn't have time or incentive to change their dirty clothes we were just running to the yard waste station in town, what did it matter? I fill the back of my Explorer with barrels full of leaves and maple tree helicopters -- oh yes, and two dead squirrels and a bird. I do not know why a rash of wildlife is suddenly plunging to their deaths in our pool, but it has been declared my job to dispose of them. As I'm tossing their carcasses away, the skies open and I am drenched. It's the first rain we've had in two weeks and it lasts all of five minutes. Five very untimely minutes.
I finish the grim task and use a baby wipe to clean my hands. I'm sweating under my makeup, which is still on after work. I remove most of it with a wipe, but not all of it. This actually looks worse than no makeup. I have orangish streaks of foundation left, and smudged mascara. I'm surprisingly blas about my appearance once I get home from work. Today, we could call me a wreck with my wet hair and streaky face. My mother always warns me to look my best! But I say oh well, and drive to the garden center to pick up a couple bags of potting soil. Now I am dirty, too, in my dumpy shorts and t-shirt.
The kids on another muggy, sassy day. You didn't think I'd
take pictures on that day, did you? The kids are now hungry and
crabby and sticky. And that reminds me -- before Pat went to work
for the night, he advised me that the ground beef in the
refrigerator will go bad if I don't cook it tonight. You know how
beef can get, roughing up the tomatoes, taunting the lettuce who
knows what will happen if I don't fry it up. I have to pick up a
few things to complete the taco salad I'm making with the ground
beef, when I take stock of the troops. We're a motley crew, but I
can certainly dash into the store to pick up a few things
unnoticed, right?
Riley's nose is running -- as it has been, nonstop, for the past four months (darn two year old molars!). It's streaming down her face, and I have no tissues. She refuses to sit in the monster car cart I've chosen, (just to inject some fun into the adventure.) She is screaming, people are staring. First at her, then at me, trying to figure out what I've done to the poor child to upset her. So I do the worst thing a parent could do in such a situation -- I let her win. I pick her up and carry her as I try to navigate the giant cart with one hand, but she continues to fuss. She's wearing is-that-a-boy-or-a-girl clothes that Daddy put on her (again) and I realize how dirty she is. If a viewer had come up and asked, "Hey, aren't you Lisa Scott from Channel 4?" I would have said, "No, I'm sure she'd never go out like this!"
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