You look at the clock. 7 PM. You are nowhere near being ready. Yikes. You hear your husband in the next room, reading bed-time stories to the kids, doing his part. “Sweetie,” he calls out, as if reading your mind, “Reservation is at 7:30!”
You are excited, nervous even, because you haven’t been out to a nice restaurant in about six months. You anticipate ordering wine, enjoying a meal that does not come with a plastic action figure, holding a normal conversation without being interrupted by small screaming children, and most likely ordering dessert. Perhaps two desserts.
You jump in the shower and soap up all the parts that need soaping. No time to wash your hair, maybe you can rock a ponytail? You hop out, quickly dry off, then brush your teeth, chastising yourself for not doing that in the shower, multi-tasking.
Your outfit is laid out on the bed, tight black sweater and khaki pants. Boring. Maybe gray skirt instead? But then, you can’t remember if you have any tights without runs. Better stick with the pants. Add the turquoise necklace. What about the new sweater with the beaded part on the collar? That would be cute, ooh, especially with some black pants. Okay, the entire outfit is re-worked. Ditch the necklace, don’t need it with the special beaded collar thing.
Now you go back in the bathroom and start putting on make-up. Black eyeliner, blue mascara, pink blush, red lipstick. Your four-year-old calls this your rainbow face. What does he know. Tone the make-up down a bit. Finish up with a bit of powder.
Next, the hair. The hair is, well, greasy. You take a bit of baby powder and rub it in your hands and through your roots. You didn’t really think this through because now there is powder on your black pants. You swear, not realizing the kids can hear you in the next room. “What does that mean, shit?” says your seven-year-old in his voice made of sugar. You decide to keep focusing on your hair for now, pulling it back tightly in a smooth ponytail and clasping it with a sparkly barrette. There. That looks nice.
You zip past the boys’ room and your husband calls out, “Hon! You have something white on your pants, did you know that?” Yes, you did, but he’s not helping.
You slip off the black pants and put the original khakis on after all. It looks fine. You grab some earrings, an afterthought, and put them on. Fake diamond studs. You pricked your left ear and it’s bleeding a little bit.
“It’s 7:15, time to go!” yells out the human rooster that is your husband. I know I know I know you don’t have to tell me I’m not stupid, is what you’re thinking. What you say: “Thanks, Sweetheart!”
You slip on your black leopard-print heels that you decided go with the outfit (they don’t) and walk to the front of the house to look out the window for Jenny. As if on cue, she knocks on your door.
You call out to your husband who is still in the boys’ bedroom, “Sweetie, she's here! Come on!”
He appears in the doorway of the dining room. He is wearing sweats and has not shaved. He has some sort of stain on his t-shirt (coffee? ice-cream?).
You open the door and say hi to Jenny. She smiles wide. You look so nice, she tells you, as if she’s never seen you look like this, which, come to think of it, she probably hasn’t.
You ask Jenny if she’s already picked them up, and she says yes. She tells you that Anne-Marie, Kate, Brenda, and Sammi are all in her mini-van. You are the last one.
You give your husband a quick kiss and say goodbye. He tells you to have a good time.
You will. You are dating your mommy-friends now.
("Mommies Ordering Vodka")