Mon 26 Sep 2011
I had a near death experience this morning.
OK, it probably fell short of actual mortal peril, but only because I tottered but did not fall, and still, I could have been seriously injured.
It was a humbling moment, one of those freeze-frame-suspended-in-time-moments devoid of all post The Matrix mojo moves now so commonplace in action films. Fleshy, metaphorically and literally, I fell into harms way in my own closet, unable to execute any judo-spring-flips of escape.
Yeah, that, and my opponent was a thong.
Just stop already.
I can hear you laughing.
I have feelings.
Tender, big, bruised feelings.
Let’s begin with some ground rules:
1. Warning: Much of the action depicted and/or described in this post is potentially dangerous. Virtually all of the ridiculous stunts chronicled are performed by experienced, harried mothers. (Mothers may also appear hairy depending on the last time they had the opportunity to shave even one leg.) Do not attempt to duplicate any of these stunts at home. Always wear the appropriate safety gear.
2. Lots of mothers of four wear thongs! Many of us have esteem and organizational issue aplenty without excess resources to manage panty lines.
3. What happened to me could have happened to anyone. Panties are notorious rivals of opportunity. Just when you think you’re safe in your closet, yours too might hold you hostage.
4. I may be able to multitask while meditating, but apparently, I can’t always dress while brushing my teeth. You know how tricky those new sonic toothbrushes are -all buzz and beep-timed to hit each, vital, oral quadrant.
5. No judgement!
6. Stop laughing already. I was in danger! And I’m fragile.
Picture the typical Monday Morning Mamma Drill.
You all know it’s a double time with a weighted pack, uphill march. Each child added to the dynamic increases the maternal incline by 14%. It’s T minus 11 minutes before kids need to be loaded in the wagon headed toward school. Lunches are packed, the kids’ teeth are brushed, their hair’s all reasonably styled, but The Mamma’s still in her jammies. Mind you, I’m not in recline and bon-bon, nightgown mode, I’ve spent the 72 minutes since I rose in mid-sprint as support pad for the week’s launch. I’ve packed lunches, made beds, combed hair, refereed fights, emailed school about two acute issues, cleared breakfast dishes, and helped to track down not one, but three critical items that mysteriously went MIA for children that swear to all the gods of Olympus, “I put it right there!”
All these morning maneuvers left me with approximately 312 seconds to get myself ready to get out the door. I grabbed my Sonic Care toothbrush, began brushing my teeth, and headed to the closet to dress. Holding the toothbrush in my right, dominant hand, I began to pull on my panties with left.
I was teetering toward the floor before I realized what had happened as Sensodyne toothpaste drool splatter-painted my chest and bureau. The innocent, little stump that is my usually well-behaved and quite compliant pinky toe hooked the waist band of my unmentionables. Naturally, this occurred just has the toothbrush timer bleated at me to switch mouth quadrants, so I shifted my toothbrush in my mouth as I simultaneously yanked up my undies, oblivious that my runt toe had shackled me.
If you know nothing else about me, know that I loathe confinement and that I’m strong.
I can also be impatient, so when my initial tug did not produce immediate results, I yanked harder, literally pulling myself off my own feet.
I was falling.
Oh, so slowly.
It was a painful freeze-frame fall
slow motion film,
like in National Geographic episode,
just before the leopard’s
strong jaws tear
down the lone antelope.
I had enough time to realize what was happening to me. Already humiliated at the prospect of a severe sports injury from thong misuse, I considered I could break something important if I fell wrong. I wondered if The Husband would have to sell my story to 1000 Ways to Die in order to get the kids through college. Those off-balance seconds lasted long enough for me to wonder if my misfortune would result in an untimely demise stupid enough that at least The Fam could make some Reality TV-cash.
As I deduced that there probably weren’t truly bad choices nor sheer bad luck enough to meet the show’s morbid requirements, my mouth dropped open, the toothbrush smashed to the floor, and my hand pistol-shot out to catch the built-in shoe rack. This bought enough purchase to allow me to counter balance back to right.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How fragile are we as creatures that we can be taken out by our own under garments?
No need for Starbucks this morning, Sojourners.
I had me a Vinte double shot of adrenaline Thong this morning.
I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah