My Fairy Godmother came to the door!

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We are 5 days from go time!

Both dresses arrive and I open the second one which was my first choice and……I HATE it! The fabric is too white and the wrong blend, the gold chain looks cheap and too big and if that wasn’t enough it has nude boob pads sewn over the center of the chest that not only show through the material but are too small to be anything but oversized pasties. I look back to my alternate and try to find the good in it…. Frankly it doesn’t fit anything like it shows. It is beaded in a geometric pattern which is always a nightmare to alter and it needs a TON of altering. Did I say ton? I meant that it needs to be remade. I can make an overnight bag from the amount of material that needs to be removed from the waist. image

Argh!!!!! I scream. I swear. I throw them on the bed. I throw them on the floor. I hang them up. I scream again. I fold them back up in the box.

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I call *Carol, my best friend but I can tell from the beep that she is on the other line. I leave her a message telling her about the dress debacle and ask her to call me back and talk me off the ledge. I text her pics of the alternate dress so she is prepared to make me feel better. image

Ding-dong goes the doorbell…. Actually it’s a fancy doorbell and it makes this music when it’s rung, but I don’t know how to write music so ding-dong it is. I open the door to find Carol! With a black dress! Now to appreciate this you have to see the big picture. Carol is 5ft tall and tiny all over. She says, “Got your message. I don’t know when I bought this but I am never going to wear it. Never had it altered so here you go, you can have it.” I race into the bathroom to try it… What’s the chance that it will fit? I am 5’5, size 2-4 on the bottom half with a 34F bra size- nothing ever fits properly and what Carol with her 34A would ever be doing with something that could accommodate these cannons is less likely than winning powerball. But yet….. Zipppppppp! Holy Mother Mary of all things good in this world, thank you for seeing me in my time of need! The only alterations needed is for me to take the boob pads out. This dress is smoking. I am smoking. Life is good. I have the perfect Jimmy Choos to wear with it and the perfect Edidi bag. I am sooooo happy right now.

So now we have discussed the dress and the fact that it fits, whatever I do now for exercise and diet only gets me more breathing room. I am no quitter so there is another p90x class that is fabulous and has me crying for mercy and whimpering every time I go up the stairs. Yes! I love the pain!

The next day I decide to get up early and try a body blast class. I don’t know what it is but it’s only an hour. I can so do this….. Except that I am a few minutes late and class has begun on time for once…. And it’s crowded….. And they are doing a lot of choreography….and I don’t speak the language that the instructor uses as she calls out the next sequence… “Grapevine left for 3, then March it up for 4, quarter turn and then an X step”.

What???

Here is where I take out everyone on my side of the room. They are not amused. I try to catch up and there she goes again speaking that strange language. I don’t know what a Mogul is…. I know WHO a mogul is… Just not what… “Pony left for 4″….. Ok clearly this is not the spot for me. I have to get out of here…. Now! But I am stuck in the middle of the room right behind the instructor. I look up at her with an expression of sheer terror on my face. She sees it and replies, “it’s the same sequence in a different direction.” That tells me nothing! I couldn’t do it going forward and I sure as hell can’t do it going to the left. This is hell. This is karma. I have done something very wrong as a child or in the past several lives. Everyone around me wants to kill me and just when I can take it no longer I look back to the instructor and….. She is laughing hysterically at me. She can barely stand up and do her little chain dance because she is doubled over. This is exactly why I belong in the corner where I bother no one.

I don’t understand this! I have great rhythm. I can dance my ass off… Really well. Why can’t I do this? It is a divine mystery to me. Whatever! I believe when the class signed in, they also signed a petition barring me from class next week. I may have caught the words “Temporary Restraining Order” flying around.

Back to yoga on Saturday because I am so sore I can barely sit on the potty and I figure it will be a good stretch. I decide to embrace the annoying breathing and do it louder than everyone else so I only hear myself.

5 days before show time! Tomorrow is Barre and Wednesday is TRX…. Don’t leave me hanging here! We are making book here. 3 to 1, I knock off someone in Barre class. Any takers?

T-minus 10 days

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10 days to Gala! First dress arrives today and it’s a possibility. It will need some significant alterations but it will work. I wait for my first choice which is due to arrive on Friday. A snap decision will need to be made because my seamstress will need the week to finish the dress. So that leaves me 2 days to get to the point where my dress will be taken into and anything else that I can lose or tighten will be breathing room. So let’s get on with what I have been doing…..

I went out of town over the weekend and for the most part I was good, until lunch at Beef O’Bradys…. It wasn’t my idea, it was Naked Me and you know that she is always trying to foil my hard work and then she taunts me from the mirror when I climb into my bath. It was a poor choice I will admit, made worse by Naked Me’s order for our table of Pub Chips which are like thick homemade potato chips, smothered in cheese and bacon with sour cream and ranch on the side. I got the bacon on the side because my eldest daughter and I don’t eat bacon so somehow that translated to a healthier choice. Naked Me forces 6 or maybe 12 or 15 of them into my mouth before I realized that I hadn’t eaten fried foods in a while and…. Wait! What is that feeling in my mouth??? Omg, it’s like I ate engine oil. I drink and drink and drink my iced tea…. OMG, I have the equivalent of the BP oil spill on my tongue. I scrape my tongue against my teeth to try to rid myself of the horrid taste…. ITS NOT WORKING!!! I have the most undeniable urge to scrape my tongue against the pavement. Clearly, I have been eating clean for 3 too many days. My husband offers me an ice cream cone to get rid of the taste. He is in cahoots with Naked Me.

Feeling guilty I leave the table and offer to peddle on the paddle boats, so all 5 of us climb aboard and my son is my co-peddler. Wow! This is work… There is about 500 pounds of people on board of this boat and there are distinct times where it gets very difficult to peddle. Ironically, those time coincide with my son taking a break and resting his feet on the peddles. I don’t like him so much at those points but I remind myself that it’s temporary pain and I really do love him deep down… Until he wants to explore a short cul-de-sac that leads nowhere and he begins to peddle backwards in a grudge match to get there. In that moment with my quads burning and shaking I want to throw him off the boat into the 3 ft deep, unnaturally dyed, blue-green water that has turned the koi swimming by our boat a teal blue and orange. I catch Naked Me reclining in her gondola with a chocolate martini while Antonio effortlessly glides them through the canal. Why the hell did she have to come on this trip? I can’t get away from her for 5 minutes. I hope she falls overboard. Back to my boat where my son and I begin to disagree strongly about our course and I consider just jumping overboard and possibly swimming under the boat. I threaten to spank him if he doesn’t take his feet from the peddles, which he finds amusing because he is nearly 13 and I have never once spanked him or his siblings. So I come clean and tell him the truth, “if you don’t take your feet off the peddles I am going to throw you overboard.” Wish granted and I peddle us back in content in the fact that I have worked off the pub chips.

Saturday night, I try my very first chocolate martini, which has been on my mind since I saw Naked Me on her gondola. OMG, she knows her stuff! This thing is AWESOME! I am sure as I get to the bottom of my glass that there isn’t much I won’t do to have another one very soon.

So back home we go and Monday comes. It’s P90x time. I get to class and who’s this? Where’s Molly, the instructor from last week? Molly was subbing for Phoebe? Who is Phoebe? Oh hi, Phoebe. Nice to meet you too. This is the point where Phoebe kicks my ass and literally drains the blood from my veins. It doesn’t even take 2 hours after the class is over to feel sore. Phoebe knows me though, like on the inside. She knows that I have exercise ADD, she knows that given any amount of complicated choreography I will be a distraction to the rest of her students and probably a 911 call. This class is where I belong. As class ends and the life seeps out from my body that is lying in an unnatural angle on the mat, I ask Phoebe what else she teaches. She tells me just P90x on Mondays and Thursdays and she trains clients one on one during the rest of the week. I realize that Phoebe is the chick to take me to that place where my old perky butt lives and no muffin tops are allowed. I ask her to take me on as a client, she agrees to bring her book to Thursdays class, which is tomorrow…. If I actually survive it. But there is more on the menu and a few other things I need to try…. I heard there is something going on upstairs from P90x and it’s life changing…. It’s called TRX and I am going to try it! I am pretty sure that Christian Grey lives up there… Stay tuned!

So it continues…..

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I give it a good run before we leave so that I can have a headstart on the disaster that will become my vacation meals.

First, my friend Ana Steele (well one of those names is her true name but to protect the innocent we always give my friends the option of an alias) and I attend a Barre class. Not overly cardio active but I am aching so much from the P90x the day before I can barely get out of my own way, so it is appropriate. My poor gluteus and quads are so sore from the 10,000 squats and lunges they tried to kill me with the day before that when it comes time to work that area with a bender ball, I find myself with a hip/ass cramp and before I can stop it, “SHIT!” (It’s caps because maybe I wasn’t using my inside voice) flies right out of my mouth. See this is exactly why I need private instruction! Ana is used to my nonsense so she just laughs and mouths “potty mouth”…. This is what I get for going to my club for convenience. (I live in a hoity-toity neighborhood and I know they have been dying to kick me out and scratch my barcode from my car since we moved in.) Anyway, I rein it in for the rest of my class.

Ana and I sit on a bench and wait for valet to bring her car around while we look for other class offerings on the schedule. “What about spin?”, she offers. I slowly shake my head and quietly say, “Noooooooo.”
“It burns so many calories”, she says.
“Ana, I would rather take a crab mallet to my vag. No!” To be fair I have taken 1, yes just 1-one-uno-singular spin class. I walked as though I had been violated for days and yes, I used the stupid gel seat. I have many friends who do spin everyday. They promise that it gets better but I don’t see how it could without something changing. I have had 3 children, each labor hurt as much the next, with the exception where I break my tailbone with the first baby and my doctor figures out that if left to cook a baby too long, they get too big for me to deliver and we induce me early for the next two.

Back to spin…. Something must change to avoid this pain if I continue to try spin. What is it? Will I incur so much nerve damage from the impact that it becomes numb? Like permanently? Cue Linkin Park singing “Numb”….. Or worse yet, does it callous? I can’t even expound on that because it’s so distasteful. All I can say is that none of my friends can tell me how spin becomes less traumatic to the girly zone. Spin just isn’t going to be for me. I can pretty much bet the farm on that one.

So the next morning I take a Yoga class. I position myself in the corner with the equipment so no one flicks one drop of sweat on me. I will lose my shit. I would rather see someone vomit than a stranger getting their sweat on me. I have issues, I am completely aware and I am so good with that! Anyway, yoga is lovely but what is that noise? There it goes again! I open my eyes and peer around the room. “Whoooosh”, there it goes again to my left. I peek through my Sun Salutation. “Whoooosh”…. It’s the guy on the next mat. Is he seriously going to breathe like that the whole class? I look up at the clock 55 more minutes of this??? Maybe yoga is not for me…..

My favorite class and activity of all time is Krav Maga. It’s Israeli Hand to Hand combat fighting. Some interesting bruises and it brings out my alter ego. Unfortunately, last year I discovered that when a second away from a head-on impact at nearly 50mph, it’s a really bad idea to use your arm in a locked position to brace yourself from the steering wheel. There were bones sticking up in all different directions. The surgeon did a great job putting it back together even if it is crooked and weak from ligament damage. That was the end of Krav for me…. Sadly enough, if I could do it over I would have just went with a broken nose and I could have had a Megan Fox nose today instead of a jacked-up wrist. I highly advise you to take inventory of your body and keep the weakest link in mind when in a sacrificial position or you too may find yourself investing in bangles and men’s watches!

So I continue searching for my exercise class… Meanwhile I will go back to P90x tomorrow and will have a bar installed next to my potty so I can get up off the toilet after class. 13 days and counting….

18 days left…. The Countdown and Naked Me- Part II

Yes I actually wore it. Yes it actually fit.

Yes, I actually wore it. Yes, it actually fit even if it was almost 20 years ago.

I am in crunch time! 18 days to go. I have been a good girl, mostly. Sometimes behaving all day means that I should be allowed one, just one, French truffle. And maybe a bite or 2 of ice cream… Well, mostly anyway.

Sunday, I go to the green market and found some delicious veggies and a gentleman who made smoothies from fresh veggies and fruits. So I trot up and say, “Make me whatever you like but I am on a diet and this is lunch.” He starts with a handful of spinach and then throws in some romaine and that’s where I get a little concerned. Liquid salad?… In goes some carrots and a golf ball sized chunk of ginger…. This is exactly what I get when I say make what you like…. “Umm maybe not soooo many vegetables and some fruits would be nice.” There goes my vision of healthy liquid lunch with everything but the umbrella. Naked Me pops up in my head and offers me a Chicken Philly Sub from the next tent as she reclines in my favorite chair with a Sexy Peach martini. Is it so much to ask for a little support from her? I shush her up and focus on the 6’5 250lb beast of a man whipping up my lunch. He replies that vegetables are good for me and throws in a big beet. What the hell color is that!? ….. He finally has some pity on me and tosses in a few shards of citrus. It’s a very frothy khaki colored thick beverage. Bottoms up! I feel full (or slightly ill) from the concoction for about 45 mins and then I am ravenous.

Off we go to try the new Fit Body Bistro that everyone is raving about. You can check out their menu…. Www.fitbodybistro.com I order the Bikini Bod and I am a bit shocked when I see how big 3oz (or small I should say) of tilapia is… I have stepped on Legos bigger than this…. But there is a pile of broccoli and some strawberries and it really is delicious. I would definitely reorder except maybe swap the broccoli for something else because as much as I love broccoli, 6oz of the stuff has it own super powers and that’s a little more than my colon can handle.

Today, my oldest daughter and I decide to try out the P90x class at our club. I haven’t taken a class or had a workout since my accident 16 months ago. So when I am breathing heavier than a prank caller before caller ID, the instructor says, “What do we do when we need to rest?” This is a trick question, right? You know the type where I look like a quitter no matter what I say so I try for a bit of honesty because it’s the best policy or so I have been told. “We pass out?” I offer. She smiles gently and replies,”No, we rest”. Same thing really. Resting is just a little more voluntary. Anyway, it turns out that P90x is just code for the cemetery plot marker where they dump your body when you are done “resting”.

At Costco, I pick up some Prime steak for the boys and a heaping load of fruits and veggies and a new Vitamix blender. I am now so ready to be skinny… In fact why hasn’t it happened yet?.. I have been trying for days! Except for Naked Me shoving a few Truffles down my throat, I have given this all my attention.

My darling husband announces he would like us to go away this weekend. I go through my bathing suit drawer searching for any suitable options when I come across a shocker in the farthest reaches! I have a vague recollection of him buying this tiny red bikini for me before a trip to the islands about a million years ago in my early twenties and it fit! I stare at it in wonder.

Cat's cradle anyone?

Cat’s cradle anyone?


He comes in from the office and I hang the bikini off my finger and sassily say, “You are one lucky man! I was a catch!” I mean really…. wit, intelligence and I could fit in this bikini, he should totally sacrifice something to the Gods of Marriage. He gives me a crooked smile and says, “why don’t you go put it on now?” Good feeling gone! Naked Me pops up in my head snickering with that insipid look on her face and suggests, “Yes, Stephanie, why DON’T you TRY to put it on now?” I give her a nasty narrowed eye stare. God, I hate that bitch! I hope she chokes on a hot fudge sundae.

Stay tuned for more dieting fun. If I don’t repost that only means that tomorrow’s Barre class has caused A-Fib and my ultimate demise. Wish me luck and if I croak make sure my husband buries me in my favorite Gucci pumps! Xo

Naked Me and The Countdown- Part I

Classic Hollywood icons.It starts out so nicely. I love the Gala’s theme, Classic Hollywood. It is a Curvy-Girl Ball made for chicks like me. Black tie optional there is no option for my husband, he will don said tux. Period, end of story. But it is never that easy, at least not in my world. So let’s rewind…

Every night I take a lovely hot bath before bed. Doesn’t matter if I showered hours before for dinner…. I shower in the morning and I bathe in the evening. It’s my thing. I love my tub. It’s big and very deep and it has a heater to keep it warm and this lovely light that changes color. I have a TV over my tub and a big window that overlooks the water. It’s heavenly. It also has a big mirror on the opposite wall where my vanity is and that folks is where the problem began!

I spend 2 hours a few evenings ago in said tub searching for another dress after the first choice wasn’t slated for release until days before the event. Finally after 64 pages of 90 gowns per page I have my front-runner and 2 alternates! Success! I am excited to see that they will arrive with plenty of time to alter for the Gala in 3 weeks. Now I can go from the tub to my bed and do some fluffy reading content as my troubles have been solved. I reach for my towel as my tub begins to drain and as I glance up I catch a glimpse of Naked Me in the mirror.

I pause for a few seconds and slowly turn taking in the view. I say, “Well hello there. Who might you be?” Naked Me’s Butt replies, “I am Badonkadonk and I am from Chipandsalsa, Tx.” I would say nice to meet you but that would be a lie. My eyes travel upward and feast on that area where I carried my babies on my hips. “And who are you?” I ask. Naked Me’s waist replies, “I am the muffin man and you know where I came from.” I think he works for Keebler in the Oreo division but I can’t be certain. This is exactly why I can’t stand Naked Me! That tramp will pick up anyone with empty calories and blame it on PMS.

Houston, we have a problem. Naked Me is insisting on taking her “friends” with her to the ball. I can’t have that so I begin brainstorming for solutions.

1. Remember this chick? Surviving on sunlight and air.
She is a Russian model who is a breatharian. She believes you can survive on sunlight and air. Well it’s not a long-term solution but I wait until I am starving to try it. Breathing deeply doesn’t cut it so I decide that maybe I need to swallow big gulps of air. I get 5 good ones down and I do feel fuller, who knew? Thirty seconds later I let out a huge belch! OMG! I suck at this! My very first attempt at breatharianism and I binge and purge. Clearly, this isn’t going to work for me.

2. I call around to see if anyone I know has the stomach bug and will lend me a dirty cup or toothbrush. Everyone I know is well….

3. I consider licking the raw chicken breast before it goes in the oven. Both times I have had salmonella, it was good for 10lbs in the first week. I just can’t pull the trigger.

4. Tapeworm! Jockeys used that trick years ago. They would swallow tapeworm eggs and then have the full-grown parasite removed. I didn’t know where to get them though. It’s not as though you could pull up to a drive thru window and order.
“Hello, would you like to try our Spicy Tapeworm Wrap?”
“Umm no thank you but I will take a #3 Tapeworm Club with a side of Listeriosis?”
“Would you like to Supersize that order and get a side of Rotavirus for $.99?”
“Sure”
“Your total is $6.47, please drive up.”
Yeah, not going to happen although Taco Bell gave it a good try.

5. Aha! I will wrap myself in Saran Wrap and shrink my way down. I have the commercial box from Costco. This can work! Suddenly my husbands face pops in my head and if he comes home and catches me in the wrap, he is going to have a much different idea in his head. I don’t have time to mess around right now.

I run out of ideas. I eat grass for lunch and go to the gym. I sweat and I smell. I step on the scale in the spa and hit a few buttons thinking I need to reset it so it works properly before realizing that it’s not some strange code but actually my weight in pounds. Sweet Mother Mary of all the Babies in the world, help me in my time of trouble. I eat roasted cauliflower, steamed spinach and chicken breast -the cooked sort- for dinner.

I got in the tub tonight and there was Naked Me mocking my attempts to be the “Good” kind of curvy that my dress deserves. I hate that snarky bitch. Screw her! I flip her the bird, get in the tub and order myself a new pair of Brian Atwood stilettos. This is going to be a long 3 weeks.

Stayed tuned with me to find out how I battle Naked Me over spring break vacation. Or better yet, help me! What options do I have? Leave your tips or encouragement in the form of a reply.

I found Sasquatch.

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6:32am- “Mom, there is something wrong with my sink. The water is stuck. Can you get some Drano?” Well happy Monday to you, too. “I will pick some up today.”

11:38am- “Reese’s sink is clogged,” from my housekeeper. “Yes, I heard. I have to pick up some…. Wait, it’s Monday!” Mondays is my Honey-Do day with my handyman who my husband calls my “boyfriend”. I reach for my phone and dial him up. “Do we have a date today?”
“Yes, see you in 20.”
“Bring your plumbing kit.”

12:05pm- We are in Reese’s bathroom and he unscrews the top of the stopper and reaches inside. I marvel at his bravery! He doesn’t have to go far when he hits pay dirt and as he pulls it out, I recognize it immediately.image
IT’S A RABID SQUIRREL! How did that get in there? He tosses the squirrel in the trash and he goes back!? Wait, there’s more? How can that be? I am mistaken, this is much too large to be a rabid squirrel.

I am now pinching my columella which is a fancy word for the flesh that separates your nostrils. I do this when I feel like I might be sick.

As he reaches in again, it is now clear that the correct answer for what is in the sink drain is not a rabid squirrel but….image
Cousin Itt! How did he get in there??? I wonder about the rest of the Addams family and softly begin to sing the tune, “They’re creepy and they’re kooky….”

Shea is now pinching his columella and asking for a vomit bag. Did I mention that he is still using his bare hands? Isn’t he afraid they may melt off? Apparently not. He looks down the drain and then disappears under the sink only to return with the trap in hand.

Holy Christmas!!!!! You are never going to believe what was in the trap! That’s right. It’s this century’s Hide and Go Seek Champion! image
Sasquatch has been hiding in my daughters bathroom drain. If it wasn’t quite so disgusting, it would be a modern day miracle. Call Bravo TV and tell them the search is over! This is going to bump one of the Real Housewives episodes straight out of their time slot. Take that NeNe!

Shea is now dry heaving and I am running from the bathroom. “Thank God, you got that out!”

And because I tip him really well, I shoot him one last request on my way out the door…. “Can you clear all the other drains in the house?” You know, in case I have a family of Sasquatches here.

The walk of shame in my own driveway

Juvenile delinquent runaway dog!

Juvenile delinquent runaway dog!

I grew up living across the street from my grandmother who still at the time had 3 children living at home, upstairs from my aunt who has moved out from my grandmothers home and down the street from my other grandparents. We walked in to each other’s homes unannounced every day all day. To this day I do the same when I am home in the NE….. It’s one of the best parts of being home. However, you would never know it by my actions here in my own home state of FL. I do not like to be dropped in on, in fact it’s akin to having a mammogram for me. Uncomfortable but necessary only on rare occasions.

So Sunday is glorious, my boys are on the golf course and my girls are content to just enjoy a lazy morning. I grab my nook and head out to my favorite double lounger by the pool in my pajamas. The sun and breeze are the perfect combination and I can just feel heaven sinking into my bones. I even let my darling dog come and sit with me on my chaise but she is far too busy chasing lizards around the pool deck to enjoy the laziness. Ahhhhh! This is the best…. Why don’t I do this more often?

Because my dog is a jackass! That’s why! 7 pounds of hair in the form of a 9 yr old Yorkie that has ADD and runs away like a juvenile delinquent. And the vet had the nerve to tack on $300 worth of vitamins to help her bad knees…. Give me a break, the dog sets speed records for the entire neighborhood… (If you know about my neighborhood, that is actually funny)… Back to the matter at hand…. Lexi, short for Princess Alexa Enchanting (that is exactly what you get when a 5 year old names the dog and there is 100 boxes on the AKC registration form) has wandered off unbeknownst to me in a matter of minutes.

I am still as I was at 8:00am with my hair in a ponytail, not a stitch of makeup on but my glorious eyelashes and my pajamas which are nothing spectacular I will admit. In my late 20’s I had suffered from hormonal imbalances that would give me night sweats when I would ovulate so I became accustomed to only cotton Jammie’s and as little to them as humanly possible with 3 children which basically amounts to tanks and boxer shorts. These were my favorite, black spaghetti strap tank and my mojito and margarita short boxers, which are perfectly fine for lounging on my deck hidden by 20 ft ficus hedges from my next door neighbors and only water in my backyard.

As I hop inside to grab a cold iced tea the doorbell rings…. I freeze. My bedroom is upstairs and the entire front and back of my house in the main living areas is glass. I am trapped. I peer around the stairs hiding myself like Eve in the Garden of Eden after the apple and through the glass I can see 2 strange gentleman and that freaking 4 legged traitor who lives here. Damn!

I call to my oldest daughter to get the stupid dog from the gentlemen…. No answer. I call again. She doesn’t respond…. Out pops my youngest daughter from her room, “Why are you calling Reese?” Oh goody gumdrops she can help me. “Where’s Reese?”, “I don’t know”….Or not….. I look at my 5 year old… Can she get the dog? No, that is bad parenting. I can’t get up the stairs to get more appropriate clothing without being seen…. This just sucks!

I take a deep breath, try to make 5 more inches of pajamas out of what I have on and I open the door. “Is this your dog?” from the gentlemen who have pulled their golf cart to my front stoop but sit inside there with the damn runaway dog. Better make this short and sweet before I am charged with indecent exposure. “Yes, I hadn’t realized she ran off. Thank you so much for bringing her home.” I say as I poke my head from around the door, maybe I can get away without actually going outside….

Yeah, not going to happen. They don’t move from the cart. Fabulous, they can get up to ring the doorbell, TWICE, but not to hand me my dog.

Yes, they are cleanly shaved, their clothes are pressed and they are 30 yrs my senior and I am looking like the Wrath of Methuselah at 11:30am in about 3 ounces of clothing. I raise my eyes to God and wonder why….

1. I didn’t put a gate in at the foot of my driveway.
2. I ever got a dog.
3. I didn’t keep an electric fence.
4. I don’t leave a robe in the downstairs laundry room for emergencies.
5. My damn dog never runs away like she means it! 

I step out the door in my full glory trying to muster up every bit of dignity that I can in my alcoholic binge celebrating sleepwear and take my errant canine from the gentleman’s lap where she is reclining while trying not to flash him 4 inches of cleavage.

“We found her in the road.” (Bite your tongue, Kline.)
“Really? Thank you again so much for bringing her home!” (I am completely lying here. I am so embarrassed I don’t care to even look at this dog for the next week!)

And then the little miscreant has the audacity to lick me as I complete my very first walk of shame in my own damn driveway at ripe old age of 40! And to think this day started off so brilliantly!