Classy like that

Today was a bizarre day. A very busy, bizarre day.

I say bizarre because I did a few things that were completely out of the norm for me.

The Child and I were up at at reasonable time to get fed, watered, dressed and out the door for him to be at Summer Camp by 9am.

(Summer Camp you ask? For a 3yr old? Why yes! When it means three whole, child-free hours, sign me up! Its at our local Y and he LOVES it. You should see the adorable 'dinonoculars' he made today. Anyways...)

As I was rushing out the door, The Child and his stuff in tow, along with my own work-out gear, I was internally patting myself on the back for my impeccable timing.

If you know me, you know (and hopefully love) my chronic tardiness. It has gotten better over the years, but it is a daily struggle.

So when I make it out to the car, with The Child, on time, I'm thinking its going to be a great, stress-free day. My own personal ego boost.

The Child is strapped in, ready to go, I get in the drivers seat, and wham it hits me.

I'm not wearing any make-up.

Ok. So its not life or death or anything. And I am definitely not one of those girls who wears an entire MAC store to hit the gym, but I do at least give myself some eyelashes. I'm fair and blonde, no mascara means I have no eyelashes. None. Have you ever seen someone without eyelashes? It's disturbing.

As I freeze in my seat, key almost inserted in the ignition, my internal decision making process goes on over-drive.

I could just run in quickly, brush brush, swipe swipe, and be done. 7 minutes top.

Ugh, but then I'll be late and I would have to leave The Child in the car... I was doing so well!

I can't believe I forgot to at least put on mascara? Bah! Ok, so I'm just going to the gym, not a big deal. Women go to the gym all the time without eyelashes, right?

Dang, I have 3 hours to kill and I was going to hit Starbucks after the gym to read.

Can one hang in a suburban Starbucks, eyelash free?

How much more time am I going to waste trying to decide what to do?

Quickly, I check my reflection in the mirror, thank my lucky hormonal stars that last weeks craters have cleared and decide to embrace the hippie, granola way.... bare faced to the world!

I may be eyelash free, but at least I smell good.

Wait.

Uh oh.

I do the double sniff check and realize I totally forgot deodorant, too! UGH!

There's no turning back now, as I've left the drive way, determined to maintain my rare punctuality.

So now I'm going to be the stinky, smelly, pimply, no-eyelash girl at the gym.

Awesome.

No-eyelashes I can deal with. Smelly, not so much.

As I sweat it out during the Bootcamp class, I keep a fair distance from the other gym rats. Hoping and praying that they don't clue in that I'm the one with the bad B.O.

Stay down-wind, stay down-wind!

This day does not smell like roses at all.

After my class is over, I head into the locker room to change my shoes, trying to think of a creative solution to resolve the stench that has become me. I am completely unwilling to give up my extra hour of child-free time to drive home and then back to Starbucks.

Every free minute counts.

I find myself at the nearest sink, waiting for the moment that the locker room clears.

I know I will only have a split second.

The charade of washing my hands begins.

Working up a good, bubbly, clean scrub...

No ones looking? Go!

I quickly wash the origin of my stench, those nasty pits of arms, rinse, grab a paper towel and dry before the next gym rat walks by.

Yes, I, no-eyelash girl, is now squeaky clean and daisy fresh thanks to washing my armpits in an open, public, locker room.

Because, well, I'm classy like that.