I didn't mind joining the long line of holiday shoppers waiting to fork over their Botox budget on unneeded presents for little Johnny. It gave me a chance to read a magazine. For free. Without my children breathing behind my ear asking, “Whacha reading?”
Once again some “expert” instructed, “If you haven’t worn it in a year, get rid of it.” I’ll never follow that advice again.
I may not be able to remember what I ate for lunch yesterday, but by God, I will lie awake for nights prior to the big church hoe down, kicking myself for giving away my tan suede vest on May 17, 1992. It didn’t take up THAT much room on the floor of my closet.
And what about the cowl neck sweater I coveted and finally got for Christmas 1979? It’s back in style and I can’t ask Santa to get it for me this year. He’s still trying to figure out how to get the only thing our daughter put on her list this year — carpet for her bedroom. The real shaggy, fluffy kind. Exactly the stuff we ripped out of her bedroom when we bought our first house in 1987. Lime green, 2-inch high, twisty fluffy pile.
The previous homeowners cut three inches off the bottom of every door in the house so they’d clear the carpet when opening and closing. That was fine until we ripped up the carpet (five minutes after we closed on the house) to reveal 1945 solid oak wood floors. Who knew a toddler’s arm could fit under a two-inch gap between the bottom of the door and the wood floor, while they screamed and begged to be released from the evil grips of naphood?
This would be the naptime when the experts told you to rest while the kids nap. Even when they did sleep, what other time were we supposed to wash bottles, do the laundry, brush our teeth, and clean the moldy ring out of the toilet before the dog did it for us and oh yeah, take care of the other miniature human beings we begged God for who were currently ringing the neighbor’s doorbell stark naked with a dirty nursing bra in hand?
Speaking of bras, I’ve learned the elastic doesn’t hold forever. Far from pleasant is the sensation of reaching for the last box of low-carb cookies on the top shelf when everything attached to your body goes up but not everything comes down. Just what exactly is Public Bra Adjustment Etiquette? Guys don’t seem to have a problem adjusting anything in public; well, except their attitude towards price tags, but we women are supposed to be a bit more refined. Dignified. Restrained.
At least in public — where I’ve learned to be nice to the person behind the counter. Especially during the holidays. I mean, it could be you, your teenager, or me. Enjoy the magazine.
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at BusStopMommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
