My husband surprised me early yesterday morning with thrilling news: a representative from our ac repair company was on his way.
On his way — as in “should-be-knocking-on-the-door-any-minute-I-am-so-very-very-very-very-sorry-I-forgot-to-tell-you.”
Before I could change my clothes, brush my hair, teeth, or wash my face (or go off on Hubby for his surprise), we could all hear the energetic knocking. He was there.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal, and it wouldn’t have been — if I was morning person. But,I am most decidedly NOT a morning person, and I consider everything before 9:30 am to be early morning.
I’m serious! You wake me, surprise me, or anything else before 9:30 and I will be the grumpiest person you have ever seen!
It is NOT pretty.
I opened the door and faced my visitor — a fresh-faced, very eager young man with his uniform ironed and starched, hair standing straight up in short spikes, and a shiny wedding ring on his ring finger.
I certainly was NOT what any man, especially a young newlywed, wants to see in the morning.
Curly hair in the morning? Not so much — more like frizzy, grizzled hair.
Perfect face? Um, no. The faint sheen of nighttime oil production was still signaling the fact that my face was unwashed.
Cute little soccer mom attire? Pshaw. More like baggy, thin capri-cut pajama bottoms and one of Hubby’s baggy shirts.
Sexy, right? Just wait.
Beneath the hem of my short pants, sprinkled all over my albino alabaster legs, was evidence showing my razor had not been used in awhile.
(We’ve talked about this before, remember? I’m horrible when it comes to remember to shave. Ugh.)
His smile faltered for a little bit, but he garnered his professional strength about him and bravely grinned, trying not to keep letting his eyes drop down to my bare calves.
Poor boy; I bet that his new, pretty wife is still in that “no, don’t see me without my make up” phase. The “I’ll shave my legs for you everyday” phase. The “I want you to see me at my best every single minute” phase.
He saw a glimpse of the future yesterday morning, and I know it was terrifying.
For the record, after he left, I drank some coffee and (after a few minutes at my bathroom sink) began looking like a normal woman again.
Later, during nap-time, I managed to sneak away for a quickie with my razor. Not, though, because of my experience with this poor young lad. No, it was the Little Lady’s look of disgust and her emphatic, “Ewwww, Mommy. I don’t want to touch yo’ legs.” Sigh — so much for cuddling with Mommy and watching The Backyardigans.
One of these days, when I don’t have little people clamoring for attention 24 hours a day, I’ll have time for the luxury of shaving whenever I want to.
Right?
PLEASE tell me I’m right!
