Sunday, May 2, 2010


I'm getting worried.

One of these days I’m going to leave the house wearing a pair of highwaisted, long crotched, elastic waistbanded, tapered at the leg (but full in the bottom), with pockets-the-size-of-quarters, jeans. With a pair of sensible shoes.

And I will think this is acceptable behavior.

See, yesterday I was in the minivan (alone), and I drove past a Chik-fil-a. The cow was out in the front (like usual on weekends) waving his Eat Mor Chicken sign at the passing cars. I slowed down. I started smiling and waving. As though I had never seen such a wonderful creature in my whole life. Suddenly, mid-wave, it occurs to me what was happening. I am alone. I am a 32-year-old woman, and I am excitedly waving at a 6-foot-tall cow. There are no children in this van. This cow is not cool. I am not cool. Somebody please help me.

What made it worse is that when I got into the van a few minutes earlier, I spent the first 4 minutes of the drive singing along to the Wiggles until I realized that oh my God I am singing along to a Wiggles CD, and then quickly turned on NPR. (Which made me just that much cooler.)

When I search for things in my purse, I wind up with graham cracker crumbs under my fingernails. There’s a diaper in my gymbag. I have a coupon binder. I actually like Barney, and I was excited about the bigger role they gave Murray in Sesame Street this season. I carry Lysol Wipes in my purse. I hide sweet potatoes in macaroni and cheese.  I actually heard these words come out of my mouth: You worry about you, Cooper. Don’t you worry about what Zach is doing. You worry about you.

Is this the inevitable downslide I swore would never happen when I was a teenager?  Where is this all going? In a few years will I happily decorate my van with My Kid Is a Honor Student stickers while wearing a cat sweater?   Is this how it starts?

I hope not.  But I've come to terms with my level of coolness.  (Which, admittedly, has never been that high). Now, coolish is definitely good enough.  I own many more pairs of sweat pants than skinny jeans.  I actually do prefer sensible shoes.  But just in case things get out of hand and I trade in my lowrisers for elastic-waist mom jeans which I wear in public, I beg you, please, someone call an intervention.  


Blabbermouse said...

Oh honey, I will run for blocks before I realize I'm Happy Tappin' With Elmo. (WHAT? It's catchy.) And then, in horror, I'll flip over to a podcast of Fresh Air) It happens to the best of us. Just last night I found myself defending some of The Wiggles' better qualities. (Not that they're flawless--jeff sleeps way too much--but cut the dudes some slack.)

Point being: You are not alone.

Amy said...

Girl I fell ya. I now go out in a spit-upped on, too big tee shirt and running shorts without brushing my hair. Why? I've got to get in and out of the store before Will needs to eat or Jay eats Will. We're trading in my alread un-cool Buick for an un-cooler minivan. And I ONLY wear sensible shoes. I actually brought my sexy but uncomfortable shoes to work an gave them away to the staff.

All I can say for my coolness is that, at least for this year, I will NOT buy a Christmas sweater with applique of any kind.

Thanks for your wonderful posts!

Angie said...

You are not alone. Let's just leave it at that.

Tasha said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Tasha said...

Raizel, you could never be uncool, but reading about how you think you are headed that way is one of the funniest things ever. I started my day with a good laugh thanks to you!