I’m at Ulta buying products to make my oldest daughter a blonde instead of a green. She’s green from chlorine, not from birth, just in case that was confusing. Anyway, I’m at Ulta and it’s going on my 3rd day of not showering. I’ve just come from the gym where I did, indeed, sweat and where I did not, in fact, shower. I have time constraints, you know, most of which involve nursing. So in an effort to be as productive as possible, I carted the little man to the beauty shop without first cleansing my stinky body. I look like it’s my 3rd day without showering. I smell like it. And I’m starting to itch. I’m just one sniff away from being mistaken for homeless.
There I am, in my glory, and a woman says to me, “Excuse me, do you work here?”
Me? You’re seriously talking to me? First, do you see me in all black? Second, do you smell me? Third, does my face look like it’s seen makeup in the past year? Fourth, unless Ulta has begun a “Take Your Infant To Work” program, then, no, I don’t work there. The ladies behind the counter all cringed and saw their prestige plummet when they turned, en mass, and saw that I had been mistaken for one of them.
Poor woman. She’s probably at home right now, blogging about how foolish she felt asking a homeless chick if she worked for Ulta. Obviously I was there begging for handouts.
Just so you know, I fully intend to shower today. Sometime. Probably when I’m done with this blog. Or, when the 10 year old gets home and can hold the baby. Or after the kids go to bed and the husband can hold the baby. I really don’t think I can stand my filthy self another day.