Posted on | March 28, 2011 | 7 Comments
On Friday, I was fortunate enough to have a hair appointment at 3:00. I say that I was fortunate for several reasons, the least of which is my actual hair.
See, I had to take J to work with me on Friday. He was running a high fever and was stuck to me like velcro. I don’t know why I even offered my boss the option of bringing J in to the office, but I did, and my boss was all “Yes please, because I need you there to answer phones and scan things.” (because I’m a secretary not a lawyer). So I packed a bag full of toys and books and diapers and wipes and a zillion other things we might possibly need. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t know what I was smoking.
Having a clingy, curious child in a law office is like taking a rabid and starving monkey into a farmer’s market. We got there at 8:30. By 9:15 I had said “no” five million times, had barricaded myself in a corner and was rationing out animal crackers to both of us. By 10:15 I had called Husband at least four times and begged for a repreive. By 10:16 I was convinced that someone, probably God, was trying to punish me. By 10:17, I just wanted to die.
Common phrases for the day included “NO! No biting,” “Please don’t eat that,” “Mommy can’t hold you right now,” “Oh my GOD!” “Don’t touch that,” “Please don’t touch that,” “STOP TOUCHING THAT” and “Here, please, have a cookie. Anything. Just stop.”
I could not get downtown fast enough and pass J off on Husband for my hour cut.
I don’t know what my hair dresser did in that hour. Honestly. But by four, I was a new woman. Something about the cut and whatever magical product she used gave me curls. And I mean, perfect, straight out of a magazine curls. I felt pretty. I felt refreshed and pretty and special and awesome. I set out for Husband’s office with a new found spring in not jut my hair but in my step.
I was aiming for Bay Street, strutting my stuff in over-sized sunglasses and snot-free clothes… you know, the height of sophistication and class. I felt pretty for the first time in forever. I didn’t feel fat. I didn’t feel rushed. I didn’t feel over worked or under rested. I felt just perfect. And as I walked, I thought to myself “You are freaking amazing, Law Momma.” I told myself that I looked gorgeous and that people most definitely were having “I wish I were HER” moments.
You know how in Miss Congeniality, Sandra Bullock is this mousy chick who no one ever notices and then BOOM, Michael Caine turns her into a super model? She comes out of the warehouse and Benjamin Bratt sees her and it’s like slow motion WHOA. That is how I felt as I high-stepped it towards Broughton Street in gorgeous downtown Savannah.
Inside, Sandra Bullock’s character was still just this weird, mousy girl… only her outsides had changed. Just like me. Outside? Beautiful. Inside? Still Law Momma.
So as I thought about how beautiful I was and how everyone was totally wishing they were me… I forgot that I was walking in downtown Savannah. Home of the uneven bricks. Home of the uneven sidewalks.
I don’t know what happened.
One minute, I was all “Look at me! Look at me!” and the next I was flailing in the air, begging the sidewalk to change into a nice soft, mushy marshmellow before I …
Two bruised wrists, one badly scraped and bruised knee, one possible shoulder injury and a massively subdued internal monologue on beauty later? I was brushing myself off, trying to laugh, and and assuring the crowd of people who were quickly gathering around me that I was, in fact, fine.
This is why some people, namely me, are not gorgeous. Because we can’t handle it. You put a curling iron, some Spanx and a nice smelling perfume on me and suddenly I can’t walk and think at the same time.
I will never tell myself I resemble a gracefully aging super model ever again.