Normally when I wake up in the morning I wake up the oldest, take the dogs out, brush my teeth, run my hands through my hair, make lunches (depending on who is going where), check facebook, email and the blog, feed the dogs, yell up the stairs for the oldest to move faster, slip on my wellies or crocs, corral the oldest in to the car, drive him to a class and I may, or may not stop for gas or some groceries on the way back home.
Now have you noticed anything significant missing from this routine? Let me clue you in... there is no shower or getting dressed into real clothes involved. Even if I stop for gas or groceries it is a head down, hoodie on, in and out process. I don't stop to chat, I don't make eye contact with people and I am always wearing my flannel jammie bottoms. I figure if, say, I had to help at a car accident, the people are going to be so grateful for me helping to save their lives that no one is going to be commenting on the state of my unshowered, undressed self. And if I'm the one in the accident, I will pretend to be unconscious so no one will be saying things to me like, "didn't your mother always tell you to make sure you have on clean underwear, a bra and real clothes when you leave the house?" (for the record, yes, my mother did always tell me those things, but I'm a wild rebel.)
Today when I woke up, for the first time EVER, my thought process was different.
I woke up the oldest, took the dogs out, brushed my teeth, ran my hands through my hair, made a lunch, checked facebook, email and the blog, remembered I was famous now and then panicked. I couldn't go out in jammies, with no bra and no shower! What if someone recognized me? What if they tried to TALK TO ME? So I ran back upstairs to see what I could accomplish in the next 2mins. Ummmm not much. I sprayed my hair with water and made it a bit more presentable, I sprayed myself with some fruity stuff that's sitting in my bathroom and I've never used (I haven't stripped my way through the bathroom yet.), I found a bra, a clean shirt, a pair of jeans, yelled down the stairs for the oldest to stop yelling at me to hurry up because he was going to be late for rehearsal, did one last check in the mirror, decided some lip gloss would be nice, ran down the stairs, put on shoes and made it out the door. The dogs were barking/howling/whining because they hadn't been fed and my oldest was looking at me like I had seriously lost all sense of reality.
As we were driving to rehearsal he asked me what my problem was. I told him I didn't have a problem, but now that I had been in one paper and on the cover of another people might recognize me. Of course his response was typical 15 year old boy... "SO??"
I dropped him at his thing and went to Safeway to check out the bakery clearance and get some pickles - very fast, in and out, no eye contact. One person was looking at me while I was choosing pickles (did you know you can't find dill pickles cut in circles rather than strips?), but they were probably wondering how it could take one person so long to pick one jar of pickles off the shelf. I made it through the bakery dept and I even got some deli meat with no one giving any signs that they now knew who I was. Yes!!
When I got to the checkout I buried my head in a copy of the National Enquirer and waited my turn. Groceries are being rung through, no one is talking to me... I look to my left and what is at the end of the counter? ME! A big stack of papers with me on the front page. Ok, I'm not going to panic. No one has made the connection yet and I'm almost out of here. Don't panic, don't look up (I think I'm actually chanting that in my head at this point.) - cash register opens, groceries are bagged, I reach for my change and look up to say "thank you" and then it happens. Another cashier comes over with a copy of the paper, looks at me, looks at the paper and says "You're the stripper!"
"Yes, that's me."
"You're famous! And what a great project."
Nothing too drastic, right? Until I pick up my bags and turn around to leave the store.
There is the local fire department looking at me. All I can think is that they have just heard the words "you're the stripper" and are now checking things out and thinking "really?"
The reality is that they probably heard nothing and were just being polite firemen making eye contact like normal people do and saying hi to people like normal people do. I, however, am starting to hyperventilate and I'm praising God that I am wearing pants and a bra. I make it to my car without further recognition and sink in to my seat having learned my lesson about leaving my house in anything other than a full state of dress.
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