I think I'm in love! New Miss Babysitter is awesome. Today? Because Sosie spit up? She gave her a bath. And? She washed her clothes. Even the outfit that she wore yesterday that I had lazily left in the diaper bag! Whaaaaat! I have always been lucky enough to have nice babysitters who seem to love my kids. But this one? She does laundry. She wins. Not that there was ever a contest. (But she so wins that imaginary contest. She is that good.)
When we came home today, I did some laundry of my own. I was inspired. I decided that I would wash both of my bras at the same time. I wasn't going anywhere else today! [insert sound of the universe laughing, e.g., Muahahahaha!]
Then I started cooking dinner. Apple chicken with couscous. I started thawing some frozen apple juice concentrate. I seasoned my chicken thighs. Then? I measured out the couscous. And discovered that I did not have enough couscous. In fact, I didn't even have half of the amount the recipe calls for. Couscous, as you might imagine, is kind of an important feature of apple chicken with couscous. Sigh.
I was without backup dinner plans. I had to go to the store. With no bra on. And hope that no one would notice my boobs flopping. My boobs are short on perk these days. I just thought of new nicknames for my boobs! Flopsy and Mopsy! Ha!
When I was pregnant? I left the house quite a few times with no bra. But I would cover up with Michael's thick sweatshirt hoodie. Now? It is waaaaay too hot for that shit. So I do some strategic arm-crossing and hope for the best.
At the store, I run into problems with my genius arm-crossing plan. If I get a cart, it will look weird if I push it with one arm and keep one arm crossed. Plus, I can't steer those things one-armed, and I would crash into things, and call all sorts of attention to myself, Flopsy, and Mopsy.
So I don't get a cart. I go to the couscous aisle (otherwise known as the rice/beans aisle.) Only I'm not seeing any couscous. My eyes search the shelves wildly, but I don't see the little boxes of couscous. Only eighty thousand varieties of rice. Incidentally, the first time I served apple chicken with couscous? Both Michael and my stepdaughter asked me if couscous was "rice cut in half."
After almost having a panic attack that I might actually have to drive to another, larger, busier store without my bra to buy couscous because this place doesn't have it, I finally see it on the far end of the shelf. There is only one brand, and it costs seven dollars. WTF? I'm accustomed to paying more like three. But I'm desperate and braless, so I go with it.
We also need milk. We are completely out. Even though I don't need it for tonight's dinner, I might as well get it. But that means I will have to go to the refrigerated section of the store. With no bra. And I will not be able to do strategic arm-crossing because I will be carrying two big, heavy things and I would look ridiculous and off-balance trying to cross my arms. Ack.
I get the milk. I choose a deserted aisle in which to pause and dig out my money so that I won't have to dig for it in the checkout line and maybe give someone the chance to notice Flopsy and Mopsy. As soon as I reach the conveyor belt, I dump my stuff and resume arm-crossing. Since my stuff goes into one bag, I can continue a one-armed cross all the way out to my car. Success!
Now, I'm not saying that no one noticed I was braless. But since I didn't notice anyone noticing? I can live with that. And people? Never wash all of your bras at the same time. Even if you think you are not going anywhere. [Muahahahahaha!]