Don't You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me

This morning I was awakened by the sound of my alarm. I promptly got out of bed, refreshed from my nine hours of sleep, and hopped into the shower where I proceeded to wash and condition my hair while scrubbing my body clean with a loofah and an herbal body wash. I blow-dried my hair into a pleasing style, applied my makeup and then went to awaken my sleeping children. While they got dressed I made them a healthy, well-balanced breakfast and brewed a pot of aromatic coffee. Rigel commented how smart and sexy I looked in my tight skirt, tailored shirt and high heels.

We left the house at exactly 7:45, which gave us plenty of time to get to school and walk across the yard at a leisurely pace. This gave me the opportunity to cheerily greet other parents on the way, addressing all their questions and concerns that they voiced to me, their PTA president. After I walked the girls to their classrooms I had a meeting with the principal, where I pressed him for a pay raise for the teachers and a four-day school week. After our constructive chat I went home, energized and eager to face the rest of my day.

Oh, wait. it goes more like this:

I overslept, as usual. I rolled out of bed, threw on a t-shirt over my sweatpants/pajama bottoms/workout pants and frantically raced out to the kitchen where Rigel was already serving up cereal and bagels to the girls, because thank God someone actually hears the alarm in the morning. We had exactly twelve minutes to finish getting ready and get to school, so I began my hysterical 'we're SO laaaaate!' routine, where I attempt to brush hair, stuff backpacks and tie shoes all at the same time while mumbling a reminder to myself to brush my teeth. I'm still so sleepy that I can't remember if I've told the girls to use the bathroom or if I've only imagined it. Rigel points out that I have, in fact, made the bathroom request five times.

I put on my sunglasses, not only to partially obscure my pillow-creased face, but also to avoid making eye contact with other human beings that may attempt to speak to me and require me to elicit an intelligible response. We arrive at school at 7:54, giving us one minute to fly across the playground and avoid being late for the fourth day in a row. I realize I forgot not only to brush my teeth, but also my hair and pull my sweatshirt hood tight around my head which adds to my attractive, troll-like appearance. I see another mom approaching but I give her the 'talk to the hand' symbol and when Kiyomi's teacher starts to ask me a question I elude her, aware of the fact that my breath could probably singe her eyebrows off.

Although still half asleep, I manage to make it home where I promptly kick off my pants and crawl back into bed. A short time later I'm vaguely aware of Rigel kissing me goodbye. He heads off for another hard day at work to support his family while I continue to work hard at snoring and drooling on my pillow for another hour or so. When I finally manage to drag my lazy ass out of bed, I wander into the kitchen and pour myself the first of five cups of coffee, the brewing of which has become Rigel's job ever since the day when I, in a morning coma, neglected to put a filter in the coffee maker and produced a pot of coffee that resembled grainy, runny poop. It is an hour before I am fully awake, and I have yet to put on any pants as I take a phone call from a client. As I stood in the kitchen speaking authoritatively about printing deadlines and paper stock in my panties, Paul Frank monkey t-shirt and a knot in my hair the size of a basketball, I thought to myself, I AM ONE RIGHTEOUS BABE.

Archive File: Married | This Life

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