Misadventures of a Maladroit Mom
Misadventures of a Maladroit Mom - Episode 1: Eye Candy
I have long been a member of a secret club. In fact, I have revived its interest within my peer group, and it has provided us with hours of entertainment. I belong to the Gamut of Graceless Gals, the Camp of Clumsy Women, the Den of Derisive Dames. We meet at birthday parties and cookouts, Scouting events and weddings. We collaborate over cups of coffee and hot cocoa, glasses of wine and margaritas. We cannot wait to see one another and tell the story of our latest episode. We are the realm of circumstantial blunders and riotous scenarios. We share because we need to know we are not alone. We tell our story because we need to laugh until our stomachs feel as though we’ve completed 100 sit-ups. We are the Maladroit Mothers.
The Cool Moms. They are all around us. Everywhere. Nimble, lithe, coordinated in their outtakes as well as their outfits. Soccer Moms, Dance Moms, Professional Moms who look like pseudo movie stars. There was a time when I tried to be a Cool Mom. The harder I tried, the worse things became. I had a strong desire to be like my favorite watercolor print ads from the 1950’s; the ones where Mom is flirting with a new kitchenaide in her shirtwaist dress and pearls. Her hair perfect, she is cute and pretty and hip and elegant all at the same time! Is that even possible? I took care of myself, dressed with a touch of class, and embarked on one adventure after another with my children in tow. The bubble popped for good the day I suffered the “incident”.
It was a beautiful November day. We survived Halloween and prepared to make the most of our month before Christmas. My good looking husband was off from work, so we decided to go out as a family and spend the day together. These days were rare, so I was eager to make the best of it. I was feeling good that day, so I wore my favorite jeans; the ones that made my butt look good. We went to the book store (a favorite hang out) and to lunch. I noted that we were getting some happy looks, and I was proud of my family. After lunch we went to a few other shops. We finished our day at a large hardware store. It was here that my husband made the remark that a few of the men in the store were looking at me. My husband has never been the jealous type, but whatever he saw ruffled his feathers. I said he was being paranoid. And if they were checking me out….it had to be the jeans. Right?
Our shopping spree had drawn to a close and we headed home. At the house, the kids played while my husband started dinner. I went to our bedroom to change into some pajamas. As I removed my jeans, I laid them across the bed. I did a double take. I stared in horror. Clutching the jeans, I marched into the kitchen. “Why” I demanded, “Why didn’t you TELL me I had a Tootsie Roll smashed into the crack of my jeans??!” And there it was, where I had sat upon it in the car seat, a left over from the Halloween candy. The Tootsie Roll had stayed with me all day, at each venue, and every time I sat down, it worked its way further into the fabric of my pants. The location could not have been worse. My husband chuckled and said, almost to himself, “So that’s what they were looking at.”
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