In the pink

* SOMEHOW, I gots an invite to Mrs Flinger's {w}rite of passage. For bloggers who want to get back to *good* writing. Yeah, I think maybe she got me mixed up with another blogger, but since I wanna write good and Zoolander's school is only for kids who wanna read good, I figure this is the next best thing. So, please to enjoy the writing topic of the day: My embarrassing moment.


I’m a pretty casual dresser. I WILL wear pajama pants to the store (and did, just this Black Friday), I like random throw on dresses, and sweats. I can be found at any time, wearing a pair of random shorts and an offensive tee. Don't believe me?

Under my clothes, though…I can be pretty matchy-matchy. I don’t know why. Especially when you consider that I don't really love to wear underwear. (Hey Tira, you may not want to read this one to the hubs). ANYHOOTS, I like to match the panties to the bras. When I'm wearing them. Consider this to be a) an embarrassing story about me and b) a story about why I love my friends.

Right now, I work for a department that only sees patients that are hospitalized. I used to work for a different department at Big Fancy Hospital. A department where I did a significant amount of interaction with people. Patients, Fellows (MDs who are training to be specialized), Doctors, other secretaries. I spent my days putting patients in exam rooms and chasing down MDs to do various things. It really did seem as though I never got a chance to sit still.

This random day, I changed clothes SEVERAL times before I settled on white pants, with yellow and brown stripes and a brown shirt with my favorite wedges. You know those days when NOTHING that you put on looks right? I haz them. In spades. When I left for work I left a huge pile of clothes on my bed to be re-hung, or re-shoved into the drawer when I returned, but I felt totally confident now in the outfit of the day. I should probably mention that my first outfit was a pair of black pants and a hot pink top and that I, in typical me fashion, had chose hot pink panties to go with my pink bra. So while I was changing in and out of random outfits trying find an outfit I was comfortable in, I didn't give a single thought to the fact that I was now wearing HOT PINK PANTIES UNDER MY WHITE PANTS. Awesome. And nobody at all said anything. I went into a room full of people to grab an EKG tech for a patient. I put no less than 4 patients in exam rooms, stood fussing at my MD for not returning a page and lollygagged at the receptionist office running my mouth about nothing in particular. I probably saw 10 - 15 people who allll saw my chonies.



Of all the people that I spoke to that day only my friend MLB says to me, " So. You're wearing pink underwear" which...when I looked down I could clearly see. I had been flouncing in & out of patient rooms flashing one and all and only SHE said what I'm sure everybody knew. I'm sure that my cheeks - the ones on my face - were as pink as the ones on my ass.

Luckily though, I always have a sweater because hospitals have a tendency to be cooler than a meat locker EVEN if it's 90 degrees outside. Which it was. So I spent the rest of the day in a big ol' bulky sweater pretending like that was the look I was going for instead of somebody who was having a heatstroke because I'm covering up the fact that I'm wearing see-through pants.

From now on, I do what I SHOULD HAVE done in the first place. I check the mirror before I charge out of the house. And you know what I've learned? That polka dots can also been seen through my grey slacks, and that even though my white skirt has a lining you can still see red lettering when written on black panties.

Your welcome.

A Birthday Wish

This morning I had to come to work at 8AM. I am generally at work by 7-ish (I know! SO freakin’ early), but I decided to use that extra hour I could have slept in at the gym. After my not-quite-an-hour workout, I went home and got ready for work. USUALLY, as I’m walking out of the door, they’re just waking up. Because my normal routine was thrown off, I threw off everybody’s routine. The Man overslept, The Brat overslept, so he was trying to hustle her out the door for the bus.

Seems like a pretty normal-ish routine, right? It’s not though. It’s taken 20 years to get to a point where I’m waking up every night next to my husband. Because for the last 20 years, The Man has been an Active Duty Marine. What that means? It means he goes wherever the Marine Corps tells him to. Sometimes he’s home to eat cake & ice cream for one of the kids’ birthday, sometimes he’s just barely managed to squeeze in a 5 minute phone call before communication is shut down. There have been times when he was home so frequently that I WISHED he would go somewhere – anywhere, and times when I only wished he would come home. Yeah, the Marine Corps wife is a study in contradictions – we complain when they’re underfoot everyday and cry when they’re deployed.

He retired this year. So he’s home everyday now. He’s taken over getting The Brat off to school, and because he’s home, I decided to finish school, since somebody will be home with The Brat while I’m wasting away in class during the evenings. His military ID now says RETIRED. It’s different, but he is definitely getting used to not having to PT junior Marines at zero dark thirty (read: the ass crack of dawn). And I’m getting used to having him around to help with dinner. Plus, I get to call him my house bitch husband. I’m a real romantic.

As it happens, he DID manage to get her up & out on time. And before he did, I stopped him at the door, gave him a kiss and wished my Marine a Happy Birthday. 234 years old looks good on him.

Once a Marine, ALWAYS a Marine

Semper Fi