Sunday, February 28, 2010
Bathing, French Style
I really have a bathing issue. Which worries me. (And worries my husband as well.) Cuz what kind of old lady am I going to be? (I know I am old now, but I mean, REALLY old lady.)
Will I be the lady with the gray, greasy hair, wearing the same sweater for a week, with the tissue tucked up the sleeve? Oh Shit, that totally describes me right this fucking minute. (Note to self – dye hair, wash sweater.)
So this daily bathing ritual…it is lost upon me. I don’t bathe in the morning cuz I walk my kids to school. It’s a bit of a walk (hey, it takes like 10 minutes ONE WAY – I consider it a full-on workout) and I get sweaty. Then I get home. Well the house is quiet and I have five hours until pick-up time.
If I don’t have appointments (which require some attempt at hygiene and dressing) why would I waste 30 fucking minutes of nirvana IN THE SHOWER?
Then before you know it, it is time to pick up the kids. I’m still wearing the same pilly yoga pants, the sports bra that is 10 years old, the T-shirt with a tiny smudge of marinara over the left boob. Oh, and it does feel as though each of my teeth is wearing its own small angora sweater.
So I pick the kids up in a hat and dark glasses (because no one will recognize the marinara-sauce-on-the-tee-shirt-Mommy if she has dark glasses and a hat on). Then the kids get home.
The Witching Hour begins of homework, reading, piano practice, snack, Jazz Clothes, Ballet shoes, etc. Then I am literally too busy to bathe.
And then after dinner, I am so tired. So tired. And I really want to put my feet up and watch TV.
You know, I could bathe tomorrow.