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| I dress like a cheerleader for Halloween... |
On a recent shopping excursion with my 5-year-old daughter, I was thrilled to spot neon green Hello Kitty jogging shorts, in both her size and mine. A fabulous boon of my short stature is that I sometimes have to shop in the children's department. By "fabulous," I mean "allowing me to relive my childhood through my immature wardrobe choices, with the added benefit of embarrassing my children by wearing matching Hello Kitty shorts."
Actually, at her present age she is quite comfortable with both the fact that we dress like twins, and that her 34-year-old mother is sporting cartoon animals on her workout ensembles. But, I am fairly certain this comfort level will progressively drop as she ages. I can then use my mortifying fashion faux pas as a way to scare away potential suitors.
I see no reason that my children, or really anybody else I like, should date. Dating results in terrible things like bad prom pictures, and later (and more tragically) ugly bridesmaids dresses for the friends of the girl who went on that dooming first date. And, what did these loyal ladies do to deserve this ghastly, poofy pink chiffon? Nothing. THEY did not date this guy who is now the groom. Hopefully. Because, the only thing more awkward than scratchy, unflattering formal wear is having to model it in front of your ex, who is now marrying your BFF. (But, if that ever happens to any of you, please please PLEASE invite me to come with you. That would be kind of awesome to watch.)
So, while in my youth I might have wanted to be socially acceptable, I am now recognizing my spectacular geekiness as a blessing in disguise. Not only can I ensure that my own offspring will remain suitor-free, but I could also rent myself out as a mother, best friend, etc. to anyone wishing to scare off an annoying admirer.
I wouldn't even have to try. Those green shorts are excellent garb to wear while running around my neighborhood, singing "I gotta BE...a macho MAN!" along to my ancient MP3 player. It's actually a record player that I strap around my neck.
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| ... and I secretly play with dollhouses. |
I'm totally kidding about the age of the device, but not of the music on it. "Macho Man" is in fact on the playlist, and I do jog to it and have to restrain myself not to sing aloud and use my sweet moves as I run. (My husband is the one who put the song on it, but nobody calls HIM uncool.) Anybody who saw me running the dog would change their minds about dating one of my kids. Or my friends. Or anybody who lived along my jogging route and was forced to witness my daily display. (It's also quite endearing when I pick up the dog poop in a bag that turns out to have a giant hole in the bottom. Nothing is more impressive than ugly athletic shoes accessorized by doggy doo.)
In an effort to show support for my loved ones with cancer, I recently chopped off all my hair. Shortly thereafter, I suffered a bizarre allergic reaction that not only made odd parts of my body swell up like balloons, but required steroid treatment that made various OTHER body parts blow up as well, and made chunks of my remaining hair fall out. So, this is how I look as I traipse around my neighborhood. And frankly, I am amazed at how little any of this bothers me. I think I'm great.
So, I have discovered perhaps the greatest gift of advancing age. I have at long last managed to scare away the undesirables, while retaining both my self-esteem and my iron grip on those I love. Because, my husband signed those marriage papers, my kids have nowhere else to live but with me, and my BFF's accepted my friend requests on Facebook. I have the whole world right where I want it.
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