Friday, April 16, 2010

Sneaky, Sneaky Woman

I live with my parents. It’s a good thing I’m not single because at my age I may have a problem nabbing a man given that status.

My parents live an hour from the elementary school my children attend. Did you get that? AN HOUR!

Today I put on a “new” pair of pants. I say “new” because they have been sitting in my closet with a $100 price tag for a year now. They are The Legging Jean by Joe’s Jeans. The tag said (and I quote), “upzip at the ankle, and step in. it is going to be tight… force them on you are going to love them. the tighter the sexier.”

Ooooooo! I’m going to love them? Sexier? Who doesn’t wanna be SEXIER? I stepped in. They were tight. Whatever. Sexier. I was promised SEXIER! I couldn’t breathe.

You should try driving AN HOUR with FOUR kids in SKIN tight pants. You should try driving an hour WITHOUT OXYGEN! I didn’t care. I was gonna ROCK these pants.

10 minutes into the drive my kids got NUTS. They began to kill each other. Suddenly a paper cup with an undisclosed red liquid flew through the air. RED MYSTERY JUICE SPLATTERED MY LEFT THIGH.

So now I couldn’t breathe and the source of my misery had become an enormous fashion no-no. I would spend the remainder of the day roaming about Tucson with stained pants. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

6 months a ago I would have just said, “Well La-dee-da! I suppose I’ll just have to buy a new pair as soon as the mall opens!”

Has anyone mentioned to you we are in a recession? Yeah. I’m sick of hearing it too. For me it means I must suffer the dire emotional trauma of publicly exposed thigh stains. Humiliation almost too great to bare. (You do realize I’m lying here, right? I rocked the red stains on those pants as hard as I rocked the pants themselves. Soon EVERYONE will spill red dye on their left thigh to appear charmingly disheveled.)

By the time this pic had been taken I'd worn the pants for 10 hours.  The fabric gives with wear.  I had a monsterous headache from lack of oxygen to my pea-brain.

It turns out Tyson was the culprit. In an effort to assault his sister, he had desecrated my fancy pants.

“Why would you DO that, Tyson? You know there is no throwing in the car!  I have stains on my pants!” I said.

“Well, why would you wear those pants if they had stains on them?” He responded.

“Honey. YOU put the stains on my pants by throwing that cup,” I said.

“Blaming is not manners, Mom. You are BLAMING!”

“Manners?” I said. I was curious what might exist in his 7 year old mind regarding the subject of manners.

“Yes. Like when I woke up today I see’d you had put YOUR clothes in my closet and that was RUDE!” he said.

“Rude? How was that rude?”

“Well, Mom, you just put them in my closet when I was sleeping IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! And when I woke up THERE THEY WERE! You didn’t even ask! YOU ARE A SNEAKY, SNEAKY WOMAN!” he said.

I laughed hard. I couldn’t STOP laughing. WHAT 7 YEAR OLD CALLS HIS MOTHER ‘A SNEAKY WOMAN’?

Through my laughter I said, “But T, I can’t fit all my clothes in my closet. I needed to use yours too.”

“MOM! That closet is HUGE! Do you REALLY need all those clothes?”

Oh, the guilt!

He continued. I wrote what he said verbatim because I was at a stop light. “You have to do manners because they are very good. But if you DO NOT have manners in YOUR SOUL they put their clothes in other people’s closet. THAT IS NOT MANNERS!”

My SOUL? He had just told me I did not have manners in my SOUL!

He dropped the subject and went back to torturing his sisters.

Maya retaliated by unbuckling her seat belt, jumping on him, biting his cheek and shouting, “I’M GONNA EAT YOUR HEAD OFF!”


I admit I was a bit slow to answer his plea. I let him sweat it out a bit. But only because I do not have manners in my soul and I’m a sneaky, sneaky woman.