A handsome gentleman stepped on the elevator as I was heading to the garage in my building tonight.  I smiled at him and he gave me a kind smile back.  As he busied himself with selecting his floor, I glanced down at his shoes.

And then it was ruined.

He was wearing these shoes.  They were long and pointy and I couldn’t imagine what kind of foot could fit in them comfortably.

What long odd toes would fill up the tips of those things?

All I could imagine is lying in bed and being attacked by snakes.

Maybe it was my inordinate obsession with the Guinness Book of of World Records when I was younger.

Photo courtesy (?) of Scholastic

Some days you have to focus on the small things that make your day.

My new snazzy toothbrush came with a clock that’s handy to have in the bathroom. It’s a nice little reminder of the time as you’re getting ready in the morning–you know in case you get a little too carried away flossing. Another perk of my fine clock is that it times how long I brush.

When I brush for two minutes it gives me a smiley face.

And when I brush for more than two and a half minutes??

It winks at me!

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My office is on the 22nd floor. Getting on an empty elevator from the garage usually means I get to travel all the way to my floor without any stops.

This morning I got to pick my nose in peace all the way to 22 (Don’t think I haven’t thought about cameras. I’m just sure they’ve seen much worse.).

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No clients today, so I got to wear these.

Way back in February I broke my ankle. You may remember the photo of the cast that attracted many an eastern European cast/braces fetishist to my site (thanks for the extra bucks my friends).

A physical therapist friend of mine recommended a terrific orthopedist to treat me. I loved him immediately. As the kid of a doc, I’m often hard to please when it comes to medical care, but he was personable and thorough and even cleaned my foot himself after it had stewed in a cast for six weeks.

Granted he missed a second break and a bunch of other soft tissue damage, but none of that was apparent on the x-ray. I still loved him.

His office staff is friendly. It’s easy to get in to see him and you don’t have to wait long in the waiting or exam room.

A virtual medical miracle.

But yesterday the love affair died.

Yesterday, at my three month check-up, we discussed some of my lingering pain and my continued inability to wear heels.

His answer?

You probably won’t ever be able to wear heels again. The area of your injury is affected every time you put your foot at that angle.

*blink* *blink*

Clearly, he doesn’t know that I consider Nordstrom’s Shoe Department the mothership. Clearly, he hasn’t seen my closet. Clearly, he doesn’t understand how wearing a great pair of shoes can make you invincible.

Clearly he’s not the doctor I thought he was.

Who am I to tell him otherwise?

(oh the blackmail opportunities for the teen years!)

So tomorrow is the big night! I’m so excited I’m ready to pee my pants. Wonder Mom and Stinkfoot have already promised me a dance.

I was going to get a pedicure. I was going to get my hair done. BUT THIS IS A BLOG PROM! No primping necessary!!! I’d be lying of course if I said I hadn’t done anything to prepare. For you my darling dates, I’ve been searching high and low for photos…photos I tell ya.

First a bit about my senior high school prom eve. Frankly, the details are a bit hazy. I do remember this. The dress was hung up on the back of the door just so it would “be ready.” Now what it accomplished while it was hanging there, I have no clue.

I didn’t visit the tanning bed as some of my sister Floridians decided to do. I was more of an “au naturel” kind of girl–though you won’t believe that when you see the pictures tomorrow.

Anyway, to provide you with a bit of context, I thought I’d treat you to some other photographic evidence of my stint in high school.

First I need to admit that, yes, I was the senior class president. In my defense…crap I have no defense. Let’s just say that I’ve learned my lesson since and I try my best to resist leadership positions at all costs. Who needs the headache? I already have three children.

So here I am on a “normal” high school day.

Note my early tendency to foresake primping for extra sleep. Hair in a ponytail and a t-shirt. Yep, that was me. Those metallic flats?! I saw some just like those at DSW this week. I guess we’re on a 19 year fashion cycle.

There were other dances, of course, before my senior prom.

There was prom my freshman year:

Check out that hoop skirt!! I could have fit another date under there. I have to say though it was very cool. Lots of space to kick around. The date was by far the funniest and smartest of all my dance dates to follow. At the time, I wasn’t smart enough to realize how much I should have prized those qualities. [shaking head with memories of very cute, very stupid boys]

Sophomore year I had a boyfriend who was my year, so no prom for me. We did attend a semi-formal however.

Wasn’t that cool the way I got my eyeshadow to match my dress?

I attended the prom that year with my best friend who was a senior. Oh how I LURVED him my freshman year. I kept telling him he had to take someone he could get busy with, but for some reason he insisted I was to be the date. We had an totally awesome time fer shure.

No that’s not your screen. My face is a different color than the rest of my body. Where was my mother when I was doing that? For christ sakes woman! How could you let me go out of the house with THAT much powder on my face?! Oh and please note the awesome red sunglasses!

He got so wasted that night he decided I was THE one he was going to get busy with. The great friend that I am I laughed in his face, told him he was drunk and suggested he pass out on the other side of the bed. He didn’t remember a bit of it the next morning. THANK GOODNESS!

So that’s it. I’m all ready for our big night tomorrow. Please don’t forget to visit with the other guests. I know they are all scurrying like mad to get their photos scanned.

It’s no secret I love this man. But tonight, he forced that love to a whole new level.

You have to check out this post!!

Act I: Blissful Ignorance

Scene: Mamma’s third birthday party. She’s about to blow out the candles on her cake. Two parents share a conversation in the back of the room.

Parent 1: She’s a cutie.
Parent 2: She’s going to get away with a lot with those big blue eyes.
Parent 1: And those long eyelashes…

Act II: This Might Be as Bad as Getting Your Period

Scene: Mamma’s now 13. Short Stuff (Mamma’s Mamma) calls to Mamma from her bedroom.

Short Stuff: Mamma, come here.
Mamma:
Short Stuff: Mamma?! Come here.
Mamma: (eye roll) o-kay

Mamma enters Short Stuff’s bedroom and is attacked by a crazy tweezer wielding woman.

Mamma: What are you doing?! (trying to slap Short Stuff away)
Short Stuff: I just. need. to. get. rid. of. someofthosehairs.
Mamma: OUCH! OUCH! What. are. you. doing?!
Short Stuff: We just need to clean your eyebrows up a bit. You’ll like it.

Later that day…Mamma and her best friend Long Legs are walking to the pool

Long Legs: What happened to your face?
Mamma: My mom “plucked” my eyebrows. It frickin’ hurt!
Long Legs: It looks better. Before they looked like two caterpillars in heat.

Act III: Acceptance/The Love Affair

Scene: Mamma, freshly denuded of unsightly eyebrow and bikini hair, saunters down the sidewalk on a sunny brisk day.

Voiceover Mamma: I wonder if Timi (my esthetician) knows what a girl crush I have on her. I mean look at these eyebrows! They’re perfect every time! This might be better than a new hair cut. I love Timi. Love her, love her, love her. Hmm? I didn’t know my pants hit my skin there. Shakey’s going to love Timi too!

Cue The Gap Band “You Dropped a Bomb on Me” as Mamma hops into her big SUV and drives away.

Fin.

The Crazy Hip Blog Mamas want to know how owning a Pink Nintendo DS Lite could make me more hip to my children. Or so that’s what their email said today.

My initial response to this is: How could anything created in the 21st century NOT make me hipper? And to just my children? Why stop there? How about to the world?

You see I think the gods are conspiring to let me know today just how unhip I am–because before today, I was delusionalunder the impression I was doing a’right.

If you will, please follow along as I recount my day and you can decide for yourself.

8:30 a.m. I hop into the shower and spent a pleasant seven uninterruped minutes staring at the powder blue tiles which line my hospital-sized shower stall–it was considered HUGE in the 60’s.

8:37 a.m. I decide what to wear to work. Today’s selection a pink sweater from Talbot’s (my mom shops at Talbot’s!), jeans from Old Navy–which were on sale the saleswoman explained–scanning me from toe to head–because the waist was much higher than most “people” today like to wear them. And for shoes? No Dansko mom-clog shoes for me today…no way (that was yesterday and the day before)! I’m going high fashion with a nice pair of low black pumps–from the Talbot’s outlet.

8:45 a.m. (It takes me a while to squeeze myself into my freshly washed jeans). The hair. No time this morning. We’re going with the wet look, which on the way in to the office I adorn with an adorable clear plastic clip piling the front of my just below the chin hair on top of my head.

9:00 a.m. I’m off to work. Hop in the car (with two carseats in the backseat, a whole team’s worth of baseball equipment and some “cute” paisley boxes I bought to organize my mess of a room in the way back and kids stickers pasted to the insides of the windows of the back seat). Decide NOT to listen to the XM radio, because I need to hear the news not music.

9:30 a.m. Traffic is really heavy today…still in the car. A few nice people let me cut in front of them, so I roll down my window each time–even though it’s 30 degrees out–to make sure I give them the thank you wave.

10:30 a.m. Check a few of my favorite blogs. Jessica over at Oh The Joys lets me know that my current hairstyle is a “mom” haircut. And here I thought going to that salon downtown would ensure a fashionable style.

12:30 p.m. Eat chicken salad for lunch–because I’m back on that low-carb diet (remember…hippy)–and decide that I really don’t like capers.

2:23 p.m. Exchange emails with an old boyfriend who still looks exactly like he did when we dated oh so long ago. Tell him about my blog. His reply? “Jesus H. Christ…first gardening and now a blog? You are such a dork!” Yeah that felt good.

4:17 p.m. Attempt to go to the bathroom by myself while only one child is home. Have a conversation with my oldest son about how he doesn’t like that we’re pulling all the wall to wall up in our house–especially in his room. I tell him it was so dirty we needed to get rid of it. He tells me I’m “soooo old fashioned.”

5:55 p.m. Back in the car to pick up the littlest guys. Decide to listen to the XM radio. Tune it to the 80’s station. But in a brief moment of coolness, someone lets me cut in front of them and I DON’T give them the wave. But then someone else let me in, and I just couldn’t be so rude again.

6:36 p.m. I serve my children a casserole named after my husband.

So that pretty much brings us up to now.

OMG!!! I gotta go find a nice high ledge. I hope someone truly worthy wins the prize.