This drivel makes me want to hurl...take me home!

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It comes to the point where you think people have two options:

1.  They're going to notice.

2.  They're not going to notice.

I usually take a chance on option #2 when I'm sick.  Honestly, I probably don't care about #1 on a good day, but, when I'm feeling off, #2 all the way.  I needed Prilosec.  I needed some kind of cold-kicking relief, and, oh, some necessities, like toilet paper.  Hiding behind a tree only gets you so far and city ordinances discourage such things in the daylight, although someone managed to get away with it.

KitKat hopped in the car with me, my fellow sickling in arms.  I looked groovy in my Captain Morgan shirt and NEW shorts (they still had the creases from the shipping) after on-an-off sleep for 24 hours.  KitKat looked faboo in a primary-color tie-dyed shirt over a chocolate brown cami and light blue pajama pants with stars on them.  Yeah, we were the stuff. 

I realize, oh, right before the turn-in to the pharmacy that my hair might not be jiggy.  I asked KitKat.

"Do you want me to be honest or lie?" she asked.

"Honest."

"AGG." 

"Bun, then."

I twisted my hair into a funky bun and started to get out.  KitKat just wanted to ride along so I didn't goof up what she ordered at McD's.  She looked at me.

"How do I look?"

"Do you want me to be honest or lie?" I asked.

"Honest."

"AGG," I copied.

"Okay."  She shrugged, and, choosing option #2, hopped right out of that car.

This is CVS.  These people know us quite well.  And still we chose option #2. 

Of course, we managed to say a couple of times that we were sick in various wording in the hearing of the help, but, at this point, I'm not sure it's that big of a deal.  I mean, I have all the people at Gasmart well aware of the fact that I wear my satin ballerina-type slippers everywhere unless it's public, and I don't consider Gasmart public.  Oh, and I went into the *public* library, feet clad in slippers, once, to retrieve my eldest.  That was the quietest I've ever been in there, ever, and Tiger's Eye never noticed until I was in the kitchen and getting ready for dinner AND wiggled my foot at him, just to let him know that I had, once again, gotten away with option #2.  For the record, though, I did make an attempt to appease the #1 crowd, and did wear my tennies to CVS today.

Sometimes, we're quick to judge.  I know my first impression of a cellulite momma muffin-topping over her Gloria Vanderbilts, woefully revealing her stretch-marked abdomen between the jeans and her halter, is to judge harshly, but are those option #2 people?  They're usually happy and laughing, oblivious to other people (that would be me, too), so I usually come away with an "eh" kind of attitude on the whole thing.  It's not something I obsess over.  There's a kind of need to point out that an element of shame should come into that kind of dress, but, again, I'm really not that kanoodled by it.  I've got other things to worry about.  I'm also a big fan of the Prego Pic by Demi Moore.  Even though it's not fair to be that beautiful AND pregnant, she made a statement about beauty, and this mom appreciates it.   

So, with all our faults, I am managing to raise at least one gentleman.  ManCub.  He tries.  The other nimrods often tell him he's "sucking up," but it usually comes at a time where a little extra attention from a baby to his mom is welcome and encouraged. 

Case in point:  My sister, although we live less than five miles apart, never have time to chat.  Tonight, though, she brought the kids home from church, and I hopped in shotgun before she could drive away, and ManCub left while KitKat took the backseat, and we commenced the Estrogen Expo.  Soon after, though, ManCub approached the door, and graciously opened it.

He extended his hand for me, so sweetly, and said, "May I help you out...madamegazelle?"

Ha!  Surprised, and trying not to giggle, I declined with a shake of my head and a kiss to the sweet hand in mine.  "No.  I'll be in in a minute."

We waited until he cleared the hearing zone and let loose.  ManCub has such a dry sense of humor that we couldn't figure out if he didn't know the right term or made a funny, a play on the word!  I knew right then that, either way, it would blog quite nicely.  :)  And we had to be careful in our investigation, as well; ManCub doesn't always take humor in his own exploits.

Eventually, as mom's tongue kept waggling, ManCub approached Sparky the Wondercar once more. 

"Madamegazeozeelle, would you like some help?"

That ruled out the play on words. 

"Do you mean mademoiselle, sweetie?" I asked.

"Yes.  That's what I meant!" he said.  "How did you say it?"

"I like madame gazelle better.  Gazelles are pretty.  Let's just go with that."

I just told him I'd be his madame gazelle forever.  He kissed my head, and told me I would. 

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