What does a person hope to achieve by publically pointing out that another person looks tired?
Hearing those three little words “You look tired” is essentially the same as someone telling you, “you look like hell, why did anyone let you leave the house like that?” and I’ve been hearing it a lot lately.
Sometimes I hear it on days when I’ve showered and made some effort to groom myself like trying to dry my hair by swinging it wildly in a circular motion into the tub, a close second to using a hair-dryer which would interrupt the still sleeping baby which is why I opt instead for whiplash.
Nothing can burst your bubble faster than another Mom looking you straight in the eye (which simply confirms you really do look tired because she’s had a chance to give you a full once over) and announcing to the world that you should have stayed in bed.
I WOULD HAVE GLADLY STAYED IN BED BUT THAT WAS NOT AN OPTION, so here I am with my hat on, okay, I’ll give you that one, when my hair has gone from being in a ponytail for a week and finally a ponytail hidden under a hat, I agree, I look awful, but does telling me make me feel better?
What is my retort Ms. Stay-at-home-mom who looks like the CEO of a company with her skinny jeans, high boots, full make-up, earrings and fashionable hair-cut? Who are you kidding? We do the same thing all day. You must really be ashamed of staying home with your kids, hiding behind that phony office persona. Do you make banana pancakes in that outfit?
I look tired because I play hard. I do the same puzzle fourteen thousand times every day. I make lists of “ing” words and get accused of missing some of the ings before being forced to start from scratch….sorry scratching. I am the Fort Knox secret keeper which carries with it a huge burden and I know my kids would be supery-dupery with two extra duperies mad at me if I ever shared any of their confessions. I am the Halloween candy bag guard and defend my stance against junk food even though when I was a kid that’s all I wanted too. I measure 52 Uno cards with a measuring tape to be sure they are uniform before we can begin our round robin tourney. I fold, carry and remove strollers from mini-vans and other vehicles to ensure I won’t arrive for a lunch date with my four year old and baby without it like I did yesterday and had to balance the baby and a bagel on my lap. I am the gate keeper. I am the floor sweeper. I am the crossing guard for Red Rover replete with crossing guard sash and full decision making power.
I don’t think the Princess who slept on the pea took this much flak for looking a wee bit drained.
My car’s dirty too, feel free to mention it.
