No Lipstick, No Bra and the Wrong Underwear

Today was not the typical day. I was headed for the shower when I noticed my daughter’s first assignment for a new teacher was left on her desk. I looked out the window to see her headed up the block headed towards the M4 bus. I put on a pair of jeans in a hurry, and a t-shirt that I had on yesterday. The t-shirt reads, “ Read, Learn, Join, Holler, Act.” It was a slogan that I put on my shirt to do passive aggressive demonstrating during the Republican Convention in NYC last year. I took it from a website that was advertising the Help America Vote Act.

Any way, I rush down 4 flights of steps and to the corner to be stopped by the “don’t walk” sign. I race across the street when I get the okay, and realize I am wearing the wrong shoes. I can’t run in these flip-flop style sandals with the fancy jeweled and thin straps. These were not meant for chasing down your teenager to assist in creating and maintaining good relations with the new teacher.

I reach the corner and can see the M4 bus headed to the bus stop. I can’t yell because she is still too far away and like clock work, the 7:25am M4 is on time! I race across the street anyway. As I get to the stop the damn bus pulls away!

While standing at the stop I notice a young girl fixing her lipstick and reach in my bag for mine. I don’t have anything in my bag except an ipod, my wallet and house keys. I rub my fingers over my lips trying to soften them a bit. I remember I also didn’t brush my teeth. It’s very humid this morning. I start wiping down the sides of my nose and forehead with the back of my hand trying to tone down the shine I feel growing on my face. I start having second thoughts and think this isn’t worth it. My kid can get an “F”. Would serve her right. Make her more responsible. I should go home. It’s starting to drizzle a bit. I have no umbrella.

Other people arrive at the bus stop. People are dressed for work and school. I become self- conscious of my appearance. I reach for the ipod and want to distract myself with some Celia Cruz. It is dead. Crap! I forgot to charge it last night.

The bus arrives and I smooth out the t-shirt trying to look like I meant to look this way. I realize this t-shirt doesn’t quite cover the top of my jeans and feel too much material at the top of the jeans in the back. Wrong underwear. I put on a pair of those granny wears instead of a bikini pair. I swipe my metrocard card and quickly take a seat. I push down the underwear rising over the top of my jeans in back. Thank god there is room in these jeans. These aren’t those low-rise jeans. No muffin action here. These are at waist. Room to hide the granny panties.

A woman gets on a few stops later. She looks elegant with her Nubian locks braided up at the back in French braids and ending in the top wrapped around each other. A few strands dangle on either side of her eyebrows. The only thing going for me this morning is my locks. They have a nice textured look, achieved by braiding the hair while it is wet. It hangs on either side of my face.

I finally arrive at the school and stand up adjusting my t-shirt. The man in back of me gives me a look like he is surprised. He has this salivating look on his face. I feel ridiculous. He gives me the up and down with his eyes. With my daughter’s project in hand I try to portray “ I’m a mother doing my duty of rushing a project to school.” I try and look righteous. I realize I have on no bra. I get off the bus.

In front of the school is Brother Larry greeting all of the students and parents at the front door. I say hello quickly, smile and inquire about the whereabouts of the students. They are in class already. I walk up the 5 flights of steps. I walk faster up one flight when I spot last year’s teacher entering the third floor. I don’t feel like explaining why I am not allowing my daughter to attend the DC conference on leadership. She can’t even remember her homework.

I arrive in front of my daughter’s classroom just in time to see her looking in her book bag. She sees me and comes to the door.

“What are you doing here mommy?” She asks, and then answers her own question as I hand her the project.

“Oh thank you, I remembered I had forgot it as soon as I got on the bus.”

Her teacher comes up as we are talking and I’m trying to remember his name. He says good morning.
I remember his first initial, which is what everyone calls him anyway. I wish her a good day to quickly get away from the teacher, who is reading my t-shirt. I forget to get a dollar from her to get a cup of coffee and a bagel from the coffee truck.

I walk down the hall and end up seeing the teacher my daughter had in third grade. She tells me I look great. “What are you doing, every year you look younger?”

“It must be that Dorian Gray Picture I have in my attic.” I laugh. I hurry away.

I’m ready to get my hippie-freak-dollarless-self back to my apartment. Geez, I hope I didn’t leave the shower running!