I don’t have any clever remarks regarding the numerology of this date.

Yesterday morning Sugar Daddy and I were talking about trading in our minivan for a new(er) minivan, and SD said that he didn’t see the point in getting a new car for himself yet, as it was still driving fine and showing no signs of giving up the ghost.  Then, on his way home from work, his car suddenly and without warning gave up the ghost. Creepy, huh?  Actually, it’s not dead–exactly–yet.  You might say it had one of those near-death experiences in which its soul floated above its (auto) body and watched SD working under its hood, and even though it was going toward the (head)light and the light was so beautiful and inviting and all the previous years’ models were there to greet the car–something, something kept drawing it back, saying, “Your work here is not done.”  Okay, so SD replaced the fan belt, or something.  He still has to take the car into the shop, so he’s driving my minivan today and I’m stuck at home with a great excuse not to run errands.

So he and the kids dropped me off at my tap rehearsal last night, and they just went to the playground outside the rec center and waited for me to be finished.  And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  The rehearsal was supposed to run from 5-7 p.m.  At 8:15 it finally let out.  That’s when I escaped, anyway.  At this point it had been about four hours since the baby had nursed, and when she saw me she had such a look of relief on her face–but unfortunately, I was still wearing the Leotard From Hell and to nurse the baby I would have had to breach several codes of modesty and etiquette.  As much as I support the right to breastfeed in public, there are some places I just can’t go.  So she had to wait another twenty minutes while we drove home.  Don’t worry, she forgave me.

Speaking of places I just can’t go, the primary reason I was running late for my rehearsal was that it took me several minutes to solve what can only be described as //SQUEAMISH AVERT YOUR EYES// the Nipple Problem.  This is best explained in mathematical terms:

White Leotard + Breasts-That-Have-Fed-Four-Babies = Not Attractive

Not clear enough for you?  Too bad.  I still have my dignity.  Okay, I don’t have my dignity, but I can still pretend.  Anyway, I had to pile on three layers of undergarments before I approached something that resembled Subtlety.  And for those of you who worried, my costume does have pants, so that obscured the unsightly “bunching” that occurred from said layerage.  Actually, all in all I did not look bad.  Until I started dancing, that is.  Oy.

So last night I had to go out to the Walgreens (which closes at 10 p.m. here–can you believe it?) to buy some make-up because I have to wear make-up for the show.  I had to buy some because I do not own any.  I have not worn make-up in probably ten years.  The most I ever wore make-up was in college, and that was roughly once in a blue moon.  After college and before I met SD, I would only wear it when I was really trying to be impressive, and even then I would not wear eye make-up anymore.  By the time I was dating SD, I would not even wear lipstick.  Not only is it too much trouble, and I am too lazy, but moreover, it irritates my skin like…gaah! something crazy.  I’m not allergic; even the stuff for “sensitive skin” irritates me because, I don’t know, I have a psychological problem.  I feel claustrophobic with make-up on.  I’m always aware of it, and I’m constantly fighting the urge to rub it all off.  Fortunately I do not look hideous without the stuff.  Well, provided I’ve combed my hair that day or whatever.

But I have to wear it for the show–stage lights and whatnot–so I had to go buy some.  I had forgotten how expensive make-up is.  I’m not apt to wear it ever again–except maybe next year’s recital–so I couldn’t bring myself to spend money on the good stuff.  (No matter what it is, it’s going to irritate me.)  Suffice it to say I never dreamed that at this age I would be wearing something called “Wet ‘n Wild.”  But then, I never dreamed I’d have four children and wear a white leotard in public either.  Who knows what I’ll do next?


When he’s not bringing old cars back to life, SD is updating his evolution blog.

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