Let's just say that I am sick and tired of hearing that. The other day, I was on the phone with a well meaning business colleague that said that I needed to put on some lipstick, go out, and have a drink and a few laughs to help me feel better. This was while the phone was cradled between my ear and shoulder, my arms full of vomit covered towels and sheets during what must have been the tenth trip in the last twelve hours to my washer. While my two-year old was battling a stomach bug, and her four-year old brother was delivering a fabulous temper tantrum over being told that he would not be getting chocolate pudding for lunch, it was all I could do to keep up and not throw the phone in the toilet.
Lipstick? How about under-eye concealer in spackle strength? Right now, I look like someone has dragged me across the 405 Freeway face down. I need a complete overhaul before I can even begin to muster up the courage to venture out to a bar or restaurant and try to dress as if I'm back on the market. Because there's nothing better for the ego than to go out to a hip night spot in a major city dressed in the smelly sweats I've been sporting for the past 48 hours (covered in vomit). Let's not mention the roots (not the ethereal, Gwyneth Paltrow, fashionably darker roots that are beautifully complemented by the long golden blonde tresses that I read about in In Style magazine at the LAST hair appointment). These roots, that have suffered two missed appointments in the last month - cancelled because mommy duty calls- have evolved into the airport landing strip (this expression, borrowed from my lovely best friend), artistically delivered by the garish contrast of brown-black and premature gray that now covers about a third of my scalp. As my mom would say "NO so pretty. How come you don't try to get a permanent? Curly hair cover gray." With all due respect to my mother, I find that Asian women that sport salon-assisted curly hair should be placed in the same category as Asian women that think blonde is an attractive hair color option.
Sure I'd love to go out. For the last two months, I've been trying to hire a part-time sitter that will work on a consistently inconsistent schedule. Everyone who needs to pay rent and make a reliable wage is absolutely jumping through hoops to secure the some hours this week/no hours next week/maybe some hours the week after situation I can generously offer. That's the beauty of having a sales job that requires varied travel and coming up with a custodial share agreement with your ex that switches weekdays with the kids each week and alternates weekends. Let's not forget to mention what this is doing to the kids, but I will save that story for another time. And of course, I should also mention that I've got children that live in the "life is a petri-dish" age range and 'tis the season for for a viral circuit party. So on nights off, I've been staying in, taking care of sick little ones, regardless of who is supposed to have the kids. Because let's face it, when they are sick, who do they really want anyway?
Sure I'd love a drink. How about a swig of Pedialyte? And a few laughs? Someone call me when the lynch mob is finished with my ex.
Yeah...great suggestion regarding going out for a drink. I'll file that with "you need to get laid" and "you have to remember to take care of yourself" and "at the end of this, you're going to be ok." Because as much as you love the well-meaning family and friends that want to provide you with support and words of wisdom on how to feel better, sometimes just hearing someone say "This really sucks, I'm so sorry" does the trick. I promise that you don't have to rack your brains to come up with the appropriate comment.
Personal time is a wonderful idea to me. Kind of like winning the lottery right now. Keep dreaming. I'll save the dollar, since I really need it to pay the bills.
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