Today I wore my Onesie. I had been swimming and had leapt into its soft cuddliness after my shower. Then work grabbed hold of me and threw me around and I suddenly realised it was 11:50am. School closes at 12am. I had to GALLOP!
I threw on my clothes, raced out the door, hurtled up the street and then, as I was forcibly halted by the train to London (have to cross train tracks) I realised why I had that niggle of forgetting something. My bra.
It was too late to go home. I had to go on. The entire walk I was thinking, “Why is that person looking this way? Shit, they can see I don’t have a bra on!”
Then it was time to stand with the parents outside. A lot of parents. Bugger. I stood with my arms crossed. I still have to make friends with these parents and hopefully share some playdate love, NOW they think I am an angry ex-army sergeant with a penchant for staring moodily into the distance with crossed arms.
Then it came to me in a flash! As soon as Squidge was out the class I could carry her. Genius. It would disguise all. However, like all plans, real life was totally different.
“Let mommy carry you,” I whispered into her ear, “Please!”
“No, mommy, let me DOWN,” my horrible child vocalised at the top of her lungs.
“Please let me carry you? Just this once?”
“Mommy! I WANT TO GET DOWN!”
So, today I established myself as a neurotic, rigid weirdo. Or as a total tart who doesn’t wear underwear.
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