3 Things I hate to admit

#1: INCOMPETENCE:

The other day I decided to iron some office clothes (keep in mind I don’t think I’ve done this for about 2 years).

I remembered that I had been suckered into a fancy new starch in the check-out line at the fabric store. “What was I doing at a fabric store?” you ask yourself. Buying a patch (I’ve never bought a patch before – but decided desperate times call for desperate measures). At any rate, I proudly ironed my economic-down-turn patch on to my favorite jeans that have a hole on “the back pocket area.” This patch proceeded to come off half way through a grocery store run unbeknownst to me – only to be discovered at home when everything felt a little “too breezy” back there.

Back to my point – the starch. I decided to starch a pair of linen pants for work. Everything was going quite nicely – till I discovered at the end that I had been using Scotch Guard instead of starch. The bottle of Scotch Guard my husband recently bought was obviously too much akin to the bottle of starch (or at least I’d like you to think the bottles were similar). What can I say? They both start with “S?”

So now I have a pair of weather-proof linen pants. That’s just great. The next time it rains in my office I’ll be covered.


#2: CARELESSNESS:

Those who are close to me know that I have an embarrassing and well known habit of wearing my shirts inside out – or maybe backwards – and then going to public places. I’m usually in too much of a hurry to really pay attention to the placement of the tag (I know – you are wondering how a somewhat seemingly observant person could disregard the tag – but trust me, it’s easier to do than one may realize).

It’s all well and good if you have a roommate to catch you in time before you head out the door – or a husband who pays attention to these things. Unfortunately for me, I’m about 10 years past roommates and my husband was out of town. Also unfortunately for me, my 3 year old, though genius that she be, is not adept enough at abetting her mother of potential clothing faux pas (she still thinks wearing a popsicle swimming suit to preschool is a good idea).

So I’m at work – in a meeting with my 3 bosses (yes, I have 3), and I’m proudly wearing my new black shirt inside out (fortunately not backwards). The entire time I’m thinking – these people keep looking at me – I’m sure they’re wondering where I got such a great new black shirt. Afterwards my boss kindly mentioned to me that it might be possible my shirt was inside out – and then my other boss stops by to let me know. Thankfully, my third boss is a man and less likely to notice such unimportant details – or admit he notices them to me at least.

Should I cut all of tags off? Should I put “this is the front” post-its to all my cloths? Maybe I should just stop leaving my home?


#3 POOR PARENTING:

Well, I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. I just didn’t think it would be last week. We were at CoCo Key and my darling three year old was at the top of one of the kiddie water slides, with her dear grandfather at the bottom – arms open wide, ready to catch her.

Suddenly she starts crying at the top of the slide and screaming “Poo-poo! Poo-poo!” while simultaneously ripping off her swimming suit. Her unsuspecting grandpa – not quite realizing what was happening, notices a brown stick-like object being pushed down the slide by the gushing water. With lightening quick reflexes, he grabs the poo in one hand, before the lifeguards (who really are like Big Brother at this place) realize their little kiddie pool has been infected by human feces. I’m not quite sure what he did with it – but this man is a saint. Sorry about that CoCo Key lovers!