Mornings are my time of solitude. I am whole heartedly a morning person and bask delightfully in these first few hours of the day.
Now, although my love for the morning hours are flagrant, you sure wouldn't know it from the look of me. Every morning I rise with a dishevelled look- complete with the bed head and morning breath. To speak truthfully I look like a wreck.
It doesn't really matter though because the only human beings to see me at this time are my children and husband. I rarely feel the rush to get dressed and readied instead using the morning hours to casually prep for the day to come.
But what happens when a visitor pops over in these early sunlight hours…Without warning.
I hear the front door open.
Huh, I think to myself, who would be here right now? It must be my husband, Jamie coming back for something. He is a forever forgetful man, one of the reasons I fell in love with him.
Yes it was my husband. My wonderful, considerate, invincible husband whom decided sloppily, to bring over one of his employees.
It just happened so quickly that I froze. There was nothing left to do, but stand there looking a fool.
"Ohhh helllloooo." It comes out of my mouth in this outlandish way. The voice that says it doesn't even sound remotely like my own, but it is…Just one more thing to feel self-conscious about.
I take a look around my home, dirty dishes assault the sink and surrounding area. Half eaten food lies on our kitchen island and it is beginning to crust to the counter top. The kids are naked and in the living room. They are currently mooning this stranger who has just walked in on our day to day life. I am standing there with a stupid grin plastered on my face hoping this disastrous scene doesn't look as bad as what I think it does.
But the look of my home doesn't even compare to the state I am in.
My new haircut, in which I am still getting used to, is flung every which way due to its recent date with a pillow. I have remnants of yesterday’s mascara tinted under my eyes which only adds to the bags that are always so prominent in the early parts of the day. I am wearing cotton style booty shorts…Oh lord it hurts to even type it. They are of the stripped variety, and a tad too wide so when I walk my bum crack plays peek-a-boo. No big thing when it’s only my family I’m subjecting to this peep show, but my husband’s work associates? I’m not a fan of new-age acronyms but seriously- FML!
To accompany the booty shorts is a small tank top, pink and lacy (but only lacy around the bottom). It doesn't make it any better though because it is a bit too small and my gut is hanging out over the stretched waistband of my big cotton shorts only to get caught up in the lace and somehow enunciate the cellulite on my stomach that seemed to appear after the birth of my second child.
But luckily that isn't the worst part of this shirt. The worst part is that I am not wearing a bra. Combine a droopy chested lady with a crack of dawn chill and that equals one scary upper body region.
Jamie's young charge approaches me, the look of pure fear on my face must be evident. I know I am going to have to shake this woman's hand, but in order to do that I will have to uncross my arms that are currently hiding my awesomely piercing nips.
In an act of deplorable effort I attempt to keep my arms in the crossed position over my braless boobs and thrust my stump of a forearm towards her. She has to lift her own hand much higher than should be necessary to grasp mine- which is limp and non-enthusiastic. It is a complete waste of a handshake, something I usually take great pride in.
We stand there and engage in awkward chitter chatter for what seems like an eternity. My arms are beginning to cramp from the high crossed locale they are securely fastened to and I can feel the back of my shorts falling down to divulge my fissure once more.
Beads of sweat are forming on my brow- maybe because the temperature is rising, but more than likely because of this iffy predicament that I have been placed in against my will.
A fleeting thought that I should explain my situation to this girl crosses my mind. I don't really want Jamie's employees thinking of me as some crazy braless maniac, that hoards food on counter tops and lets her children run around in the nude displaying their bottoms for all to see (well the last part is true…I can’t deny that). Nevertheless, I bite my tongue, because me rambling about these thoughts, will only make matters worse at this point.
I am perturbed. Should I reach around and heave my oversized shorts up, running the serious risk of revealing my oh so scary mommy boobs?
Or just let it be? Let 'er all hang out. I'm in this far already, why don't I just show you this strange growth I have on my inner thigh while I'm at it.
Finally they leave. I let out a huge breath of relief, and then indulge in this eerie cry/laugh thing which I don’t really know what to think about.
I learnt two very important things that day. One is that I can never assume my husband would know to text or call before bringing some random stranger to our home. And two- always assure you have an escape plan for those certain circumstances when things get weird.