Oh yeah, you heard it. I said it. Although, really I didn’t say it. It just happens to be what Micaela thought she heard me say. After work one day, I made a quick stop for a jump rope and ran into just the cutest pair of workout shorts that my now not-so-fat butt will fit into. I didn’t care that they were $30 (sorry, Jason). I didn’t care that they weren’t on sale or that all I was going to do was sweat in them. Heck, if it helps I’ll sweat in them every single day this summer, and the entire time, I’ll think about my Nike shorts that my previous butt would have never fit into.
Anyway, that night was carpool night, and Micaela asked me why I was running a little late. I told her, “I stopped to get a jump rope and some new booty-kickin’-shorts at Dick’s.”
At which point, she promptly went into convulsions and both of her eyes started twitching. Well, ok—maybe it wasn’t that extreme, but I was pretty sure her eyeballs were going to pop out of her head.
Evidently, she only heard a few key words of my explanation: Mommy. Booty. Shorts.
The look on her face was priceless. It was the kind of look that said OhSweetJesusHowAmIGoingToEverGoInPublicWithAMotherWhoWearsBootyShorts!? And I could also see her thinking of reasons right then and there why I could no longer drop her off in front of the school or the gym or anywhere there might be anyone she’s remotely acquainted with for that matter. She was contemplating running away and becoming a nun all at once. She was mentally counting her saved-up change and wondering if she could afford a bus ticket to ANYWHERE BUT HERE.
And as I looked at my sweet girl who was valiantly trying to give me a fake (and pained-looking) smile, I realized what she thought I had said. How could I let her think I would embarrass her like that? I had to remedy the situation immediately.
So I told her, “Of course, I’ll also be wearing my new shorts to parent-teacher conferences.” (Cue my evil laugh right here.) I’m pretty sure she’s still hiding in some dark corner of our house breathing into a paper bag.
And just for the record, my new booty-kickin’ shorts are not short-shorts. They are almost to my knees, but I’ll never let the kid know that. Let her live in fear.