I need a personal stylist

Did I mention that I’m giving up caffeine?  I drank my last Diet Coke with Lime can today, though I cannot guarantee that I will not buy a small Diet Coke at McDonald’s tomorrow.

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My daughter goes to half-day kindergarten.  The past few classes, she’s called me at about 11:15 a.m. to ask me whether I’ll be picking her up.  She knows I will, but she calls just to hear my voice–and her sweet teacher lets her.  Grace tells me, “I just really miss you,” and what can I say?  It really is that fabulous to be in my presence.  Ha.

So today, she calls me.  I’d been taking a nap (I’m like a baby–I stay up too late, wake up early and then need a morning nap) and after I hung up the phone, I realized that I had a message on the phone.  It was flashing.  I hadn’t noticed it flashing before then because I hadn’t expected any calls this morning.

However, while I was taking my daughter to school, my supervisor at work in New York called and asked me to send some information immediately or to call her.  Two and a half hours later, I noticed her urgent message.

I flew into hyperspeed, showering quickly, getting dressed and hurrying to the computer to send an email before rushing off to pick up my daughter at school.  As I closed the van door and turned on the engine, I saw that I would just make it to school on time, barely.  It was 11:47 a.m.  School is out at 11:45 a.m., but the class takes a few minutes–a surprisingly long few minutes–to file out of the classroom like dawdling ducks behind their teacher.  I know this because I am usually sitting in my van in the parking lot watching their slow progress.

Then I thought, huh, my feet feel different, so I glanced down.  Lo and behold, my left foot wore a white canvas sneaker and my right foot wore a black plush slipper with authentic sheepskin lining.  With an audible chortle, I sped toward the school (takes two minutes) only to arrive as the buses pulled out of the parking lot.  Which meant that my daughter was back in the classroom with her teacher awaiting my unexpectedly tardy arrival.

I had no choice.  I had to stroll to the classroom in my shockingly mismatched footwear and, of course, I couldn’t just play it cool.  When another mom met me at the door, remarking, “Boy, they were out early today,” I said, “YES, AND LOOK AT MY FEET!”

Then, inside the classroom to the teacher, “Hi, sorry I’m late.  LOOK AT MY FEET!”

And I launched into the entirely unnecessary, dramatic story about why I was wearing a shoe and a slipper.  (Note to self:  Shut.  Up.  Also?  Get some sleep.)