When I was a first year law student, I went to a party thrown by a second year student at a rented house, and there were a lot of people I didn't know. I was standing next to this very debonair guy, when a group of people walked in, including a woman who shall remain nameless. She was dressed in wrinkled khakis and an ill-fitting thermal type top, and her blonde mane was frizzy and unstyled. Her face was pale, and she had conspicuous bags under her eyes. If a picture of that scene were to be placed in a kid's activity book for child to figure out "what's wrong with this picture," the answer would be "her face" because the expression on her face did not match the party atmosphere around her. I coolly leaned over slightly to my side and said to the guy standing next to me in my typical blase bitch manner, "My God, she looks like she's been sweeping the floors of hell."
I'm fairly certain the aforementioned debonair guy spewed out beer, and absolutely certain he doubled over with laughter. As nothing facilitates bonding faster than cruel and juvenile humor, the guy -- Derek -- and I became friends from that moment onward. Derek insisted on borrowing one of my lipsticks so that he could quote me on the bathroom mirror in that house.
Although that incident took place 15 years ago, I have never stopped feeling bad about being snarky to a total stranger. She didn't hear me, thank God, and I don't think she even knows I exist, but because my playground brand of name calling made me feel so bad, I have never forgotten her. This is my mea culpa to her.
She should get the last laugh, because although I was a bitch that night, karma is even bitchier, and my recent experience is proof of that. One of Skyler's classmates had a costume party at her house the other day. Although we had all planned to attend, for various reasons Randy and I decided to just drop Skyler off. Randy had been mowing the yard all day, and he was wearing his lawn-mowing "uniform" of camoflauge pants, red fleece pullover, and Crocs. Needless to day, he did not feel "presentable," in his state, so I escorted Skyler into the house for the party while Randy, my mother, and Jagger waited in the car so we could get lunch afterwards. Having handed Skyler over to the hostess, I turned around to leave. As I did so, I saw a woman who was wearing baggy jeans, a loud purple tshirt and a long sweater that could have been mistaken for a bathrobe. Her hair was haphazardly pulled back, she was wearing no make up, and she had extremely dark circles under her eyes. In short, she looked like she had been sweeping the floors of hell. Why in the world, I wondered, would someone attend a party looking like that? No sooner did that thought surface than I realized that I was looking at my reflection in the window. To my horror and dismay, I had become a sweeper of hell's floors.
This rude awakening coincided with the feeling I have been having lately of inadequacy, for lack of a better word. It seems like the women around me can breezily hold down a full time job, tend to their young children, prepare gourmet meals using organic ingredients and home grown herbs, work out at the gym daily, drive their kids to their sports and lessons of every variety, keep their houses as if they were personally trained by Martha Stewart, and still look like...well, MILFs. I just don't know how they do it.
I read this quote recently: "There comes a time when a woman needs to stop thinking about her looks and focus her energies on raising her children. This time comes at the moment of conception. A child needs a role model, not a supermodel." --Astrid Alauda, on the "hot mom" trend.
First of all, who in the world is Astrid Alauda? I've never heard of her. And I don't care for her philosophy. Since when did trying to be a good mom and trying not to look as if one has been sweeping hell's floors become mutually exclusive? Is striving to be a "hot mom" just a "trend" (I remember my mom going to aerobics classes, shopping for designer jeans and purses, and getting her hair professionally styled regularly when I was 14 years old, and she still does!!)? Is it really a good idea for anyone -- people with or without kids -- to stop caring about their appearance? I think not. Watch this momma put away her broomstick.
