Rip, Rip, Ping (The Ballad of the Wayward Button)

Clean shirt, new shoes
and I don't know where I am goin' to.
Silk suit, black tie,
I don't need a reason why.
They come runnin' just as fast as they can
coz every girl crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

Gold watch, diamond ring,
I ain't missin' a single thing.
And cufflinks, stick pin,
when I step out I'm gonna do you in.
They come runnin' just as fast as they can
coz every girl crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

Top coat, top hat,
I don't worry coz my wallet's fat.
Black shades, white gloves,
lookin' sharp and lookin' for love.
They come runnin' just as fast as they can
coz every girl grazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

"Sharp Dressed Man". -ZZ Top


It was the best of times. It was the less than best of times. I wear many hats, but plaguerist is not one of them, Mr. Dickens! Today was definitely a Manic Monday, except, of course, it was Thursday. In my best "who's on first" fashion, I can honestly say that Monday was more like a Wednesday this week. Not too many complications, plus, I'm one of those rare oddities of the human race who actually really like their job! Call me Suzy Sunshine (no really, don't!) but there's something to be said about getting up and going out into the world to try and impact someone else - be that a co-worker or a customer....or whomever. We won't go into any details about the details. Another hat I don't wear is "Dunce". Suffice it to say that I work (daily), and I like my job (almost always). Beyond that, we're on a need to know basis. Anywho, back to the week. Tuesday? I don't really remember Tuesday at all, so I guess it was above par. Wednesday? Pretty darn good! Today? Three steps forward and three miles back! Allow me to splain, Ricky!

I woke up today. Since the last time I blogged, I chopped off all of my newly grown shoulder length hair. It felt like the right thing to do. After being bald and s-l-o-w-l-y growing my hair out, I thought I would give it one last "I'm over 40 but I can't admit it" growth spurt. As I fell asleep every night, I would think, "Brooke Shields is one year older than you! Cindy Crawford is the same age as you. Demi Moore is OLDER than you." Repeat until you fall asleep. It's the old-girl-long-hair-sheep-counting technique! And, it was working for a while. Gradually, though, the hair started to bother me as it grew down the back of my neck. I couldn't sleep at night. I didn't think it looked that good. It was sooooooo hot and thick and unruly and unmanageable. So, it's gone! Anyway, back to this morning. I had a catastrophe wrapped in an enigma blanketed in a nightmare. Come to think of it, I'm reminded of another place and time - when all that separated the men from the boys was the quality of their pants.

Hello? 1999? You out there somewhere? Yoo hoo! Come in '99...... Paging 1999. Heyyyy (Hip Hop Hooray!) Thanks for joining me! Here's the deal. Once I had a farm. Not in Africa (quick, what movie?) It was actually just some acreage in Forney, TX. Still, I was blessed to be a stay at home mom for over 10 years. I subbed. I ran programs. I volunteered. I face painted at carnivals. I was definitely mom o' the year...consecutive years, mind you! Nevertheless, life with 3 young stair-step kids is never dull. It's equal parts bliss and piss. Those adorable little cherubs morph from angelic to demonic faster than you can say "Expecto Patronum!" (HP fans, you may bow down at my feet later). Still, we live, we love, we laugh. We enlighten. We feed. We clothe. We nurture. We tire, quickly. Here's the scene: Enter Dillan. Age 12 or so. Middle school. It's all about the image. Necklace made of ball bearings (check). Hair died platinum at the crown only (check). Wallet with chain (check). Leather motorcycle jacket (check). Always a study in contrasts, my eldest, he's in the band. I'm so proud to see his artistic side! Finally, a glimpse of his mom. Issue: " Mom, the band concert is tomorrow night. Do you have my navy blue pants!" Me: " Of course I do! Why, I'll have them pressed and ready to wear to school, tomorrow." (Note from author: I was instructed by said son NEVER to buy navy pants. They are not cool.) PANIC! What to do? No time for the mall. Hmmmm..... Think, think. I KNOW! I'll go to the local big-box retail grocer/tire/fuel/produce/feminine hygiene store!!! Not the best source for pants, mind you, but time is priceless, after all. Besides, he HATES the navy uniform pants. Cool guys only wear khaki, remember? So, I go. So I buy. So I iron. So I give. So he wears......Epilogue: 3:30 pm. I pull up in front of the school. 3:40 - nothing. 3:45 - nothing, 4 pm - who? Is that? Hmmmmm.....Yep, here he comes. Why Is he walking like that?

For the rest of the story.... 1) Dillan arrives at school. Leather biker jacket? Check. Circular section of crown of head died platinum? Check. Ball bearing necklace? Check. Navy pants? Check! 2) Humiliated Dill exits school. Mom's internal thoughts upon seeing eldest son walking in a rather constipated looking gate toward the car, "WTHeck is wrong with him? Hernia? Pulled a back muscle? Horrendous stomach cramps? Why is he all hunched over like the Notre Dame dude with his backpack clenched in front of him? 3) The Ugly Truth: Dillan: Mom, WHERE did you get these pants? Moi: At a store over by the mall? (sort of true) Dillan: Mom, I had THE worst day!!! Moi: Dill, what happened? Dillan: Mom, like an hour after I got to school I went to the restroom to pee. When I tried to zip up my pants, the zipper just went up and down but wouldn't do anything! I even unbuttoned to see if that would help. Then, when I tried to button back up, thinkin' I'd just tighten my belt extra tight, the button popped off and flew all over the bathroom. I heard it hit the sink, but I was too embarrassed to go and pick it up." Moi: "Well, I wonder what could've happened???"

Fast forward, oh catastrophes of clothing future! Scene: 2011 Protagonist: Me!!! Antagonist: Big box retailer's AMAZINGLY chic olive green-rayon-drawstring waist-shirt dress with double pocketed bodice (so triple darn c-u-t-e) that I just HAD to have it! And......ACTION: See me arrive back at office after visiting mui importante client. Staff member: "What's that?" (I glance down at the area near my right lower hip near the buttocks area) "OMG - My dress has a HUGE rip down the side and I'm on my way to another client meeting!!!!" MORE ACTION: The next client: "Uh, hey, what's that?" (Mind you I have my largemongous purse discreetly placed over the also largemongous rip) Me, looking down at the area near my left lower hip near the buttocks area: "OMG - my dress has a HUGE rip down the side and I'm on my way to a charity meeting!" EVEN MORE ACTION: Unable to rise and greet incoming attendees at said charity meeting, I exit the building doing a very odd "hold-purse-tight-to-body-place-left-hand-rigidly-against-left-hip" move (think "Night of the Living Dead" combined with Elaine from Seinfeld dance moves). Finally, easing myself into the driver's seat of my car, I allow myself a long-awaited exhale. Done. Finito. Over. Let's engage the seat belt and get the heck out of Dodge. And that, dear friends, is when my top button popped off. True story. All hail the power of karma. Ain't it a bit#*?