So this morning a little after 9 a.m., I'm doing dishes when the familiar squeel and rumble of the garbage truck seeps in through our archaic swamp cooler and our old-and-not-soundproof windows (so said the vinyl window salesguy), and Christine calls from the other room, "Do we have the garbage out yet?"
Oops.
I rush to the window to check the truck's direction. Whew. It's headed down the other side of the street, and I've got a few minutes yet.
Check the garbage under the sink. It's on the full side. Pull the bag out and head to the garage without getting a twist-tie. Push the garage-door-opener button. Throw the bag in the garbage can and begin wheeling it out to the street. Feel terribly exposed to be caught in the bright sunlight on my driveway . . . in pajamas.
People at the chapel across the street are preparing for a funeral. I see cars but no people. I look down the road and see blurry figures (I don't have my glasses on yet) walking toward me on the sidewalk a few houses away. I tell myself (but don't believe myself) that they likely can't tell from that distance that my clothes are not blue slacks and a short-sleeved dress shirt. The shuffle of my slippers must give it away. I hear a car start in the church parking lot and realize I must have been observed. This is the downside of living so close to the church.
All the while, inside my head, I'm defending my attire to all of the scoffing glances I am probably receiving: "I got up at 6 a.m., honest. I've changed a diaper, dressed a child, read scriptures, prayed, watered the garden (all two plants), inspected a couple of trees, waked another child, called work to tell them I won't be in until 1 p.m., set the table, eaten, fed Caroline, and washed a ton of dishes. I just haven't gotten around to the clothes part."
And I didn't get around to the clothes part until noon. This must be what my wife feels like every day—only I think she manages a shower earlier than noon somehow.
(Christine, by the way, was also busy this morning, making a cake for the funeral luncheon and getting Lizzy ready for the day [a long process] and getting herself ready to attend the funeral at 10.)
Thats so funny! That exact same thing happens to me every Monday morning. I live next to a church too, and every monday morning I am caught taking the garbage out in my pj's!
ReplyDeleteAt least you come by this feeling of being exposed to the world in your pajamas honestly. For several years I have given a big tip to the morning newspaper boy to put our paper on the porch so I wouldn't have to go clear out on the driveway to get it while still in my housecoat and slippers.
ReplyDeleteMama
I drive my kindergartener to school in my pajamas, most days. Thank goodness for curbside drop-off! I consider it an accomplishment if I can get her ready to leave the house by 7:40 am, a great accomplishment if I can get her 3 year-old sister ready by then as well, and an exceptional accomplishment if all three of us are ready. But my excuse is that I'm just going to go back home and hop on the treadmill, anyway.
ReplyDelete