At about 4:00 this afternoon, I went to my car to get my gym clothes to change into. I had already figured out that I failed to bring socks, which was more or less not my fault. I had socks in my gym bag when I originally packed it, which was last week, when I thought I would be able to go but then couldn’t for child related reasons, but my friend Diane realized that she hadn’t brought socks, so I lent her mine. As a result, there were no socks in my gym bag.
About fifteen minutes before I left to go to the Dollar General up the street to get some functional socks, Diane found a random pair of socks under a seat of her car, and so I THOUGHT I was prepared.
I closed the door to my office, and unpacked my gym bag. I pulled out my shoes, and discovered that I had brought one teal colored Brooks running shoe (right foot) and one white with sherbet colored striped and glitter Skechers casual shoe (left foot.) Sigh. You might think that packing such completely different shoes would be impossible for a conscious person to do, but in my defense it was really early and I hadn’t had much coffee when I did it. And, it was last week, so I really don’t remember doing it at all. Furthermore, this is much better than the last time I did this, when I brought two left shoes. So, I put the shoes on, and despite the fact that my right side was about an inch higher due to the fluffier sole in the running shoe, I figured they Would Do for a weightlifting class, and went on my merry way. I wasn’t really that concerned about looking like an idiot at the gym. No matter what I am wearing or doing I look like an idiot at the gym.
I was, however, concerned about looking like an idiot at the Loganville Middle School Archery Boosters Club Meeting I had to go to after the gym. I was already semi-concerned that due to poor planning I had to go wearing ratty sweatpants I’ve owned since high school and a nanky t-shirt. Not that I care what the other Archery Moms think of me as a fashionista, but I am conscious about marketing and looking like it is within the realm of possibility that I might be a lawyer someone might want to hire to do something Very Important when meeting new people. The thought of wearing the decades old sweats along with completely mismatched shoes might have been a little much even for me, but it was that or ditch the meeting altogether, which I couldn’t do, because due to the aforementioned lawyer thingie, I had some Very Important Paperwork to deliver, get signed, and take Back to the Office.
Having no choice, I soldiered on, finished my class at the gym, and headed to the meeting. As far as I know, no one noticed the mismatched shoes, either at the gym or the middle school. Or at least no one said anything to me or pointed and laughed. I didn’t even see anyone doing that Trying-Not-To-Look face with the shifty eyes people do when they know it isn’t polite to stare but simply can’t help it. And I was looking for it. I guess you can always count on the obliviousness of others. Phew.
I got home, and my son greeted me at the door. He led me gleefully to the oven, which my husband had left open before taking my daughter to some Girl Scout somethingoranother. My son pointed to the wire rack, which looked as if the guy whose face melted at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark had melted his face in our oven instead. “Daddy accidentally put the pizza in upside down.” He pointed to the countertop, which was covered with a cutting board, which was covered with a cheeseless pizza. A mostly eaten cheeseless pizza. My reaction was to immediately take a picture and then sit down to write this post in the LaZBoy™ in the living room with my feet propped up so as to create a better lap desk for my laptop. After I began to write, my son begged me to take him to the store to get supplies for a project. Since my very existence seems to embarrass him most of the time, I figured my attire wouldn’t meet his standards, and also figured that since my feet were hovering about three feet in the air due to the LaZBoy™’s trademark footrest he had to have seen the evidence of my idiocy. I said, “Aren’t you embarrassed to be seen with me like this?”
“In sweatpants?” He said. “Lots of people wear sweatpants to the store.”
“No,” I said. “Look at me more closely.”
He did a quick body scan. “What? Your hair is ok.”
We went through this a few more times before I directed him to my feet. It is a testament to how much he wanted to go to the store that he was willing to go with me anyway. I guess it didn’t occur to him to suggest that I do something in the way of swapping one shoe out with the similar pair of shoes I must have had in my room.
My husband came home shortly thereafter, and, after I showed him my shoes, he said he felt much better about his own personal disaster. He also said he checked on the pizza three or four times before realizing it was upside down. He couldn’t understand why the cheese wasn’t melting on top. He started cleaning it out and then the oven started making a beeping noise and flashing some code number where the time should be. Apparently melted cheese isn’t good for the innards of one’s oven if one wants to keep it Properly Operational.
I guess we won’t be cooking food any time soon. I’ll let someone else, like the fry cook at Wendy’s, cook my food, and I’ll let someone else, like my fashion conscious 9-year-old, pick out my shoes. It is all just as well, because I’m not sure our insurance would cover the costs of replacing our kitchen because I failed to prevent a self-inflicted pizza cheese disaster because I tripped over my uneven mismatched shoes on the way to get the fire extinguisher. Assuming we have one.