Smiling Mom

Part 1 of 3

This internal dialogue haunts me, daily.

I was a pretty girl.  A pretty blond girl. Blond jokes were a constant from the time I began middle school.  I use to pretend they didn’t bother me.  I use to pretend to be the girl that others wanted me to be.

I use to pretend to be dumb.

When I was fifteen, I remember a cute boy patting me on the head after I said something he though was foolish.   “It’s OK Nanette, you’re blond.”

This comment, a comment that had been said to me hundreds of times, hit a chord.

That was the last time I took blond crap from anyone.

That was the day I stopped pretending to be dumb.

Funny thing happened, I began pretending to be smart.

I never forgot the words people said about me, though.

And at thirty two, I still believe that I am dumb.  I pretend I don’t, but I do.

My logical left brain says, “That’s stupid.  You are very smart.  You are an incredible teacher, great mom, and a good partner.  You are not dumb.”

But then someone pats my head or gives me a look of pity after I spell something incorrectly, or say something that wasn’t so smart…and I feel, well, dumb.

My internal dialogue, “Nanette, you are not smart enough, lucky yes.  Smart, no.”

We recently returned from our ‘maiden voyage’ in our tent trailer.

We finally got one last month! Squee!

This was our first of four planned trips for the summer.  Let me just say that camping in a tent trailer beats tent camping by a mile and a half!  Especially when one decided to camp in Northern California near the beach.

It was cold.

During the day we expored local tide pools and in the evenings Steve and I played games as the kids slept away.

The game of choice?  Boggle.  A game that I fondly refer to, in my head, as Suck-oogle.  Because I SUCK at that game.

It would be one thing if my meager brain was pitted against another meager brain, but unfortunately that’s not the case in my family.  Steve’s super power brain ran mental circles around me.  It’s probably because he was a spelling bee champion in 4th grade.

DAMN whole language!!  You cursed me!

Anyway, we pretty much came out of the trip unscathed minus a few broken pieces on the tent trailer, and ready for our next adventure.

So I’ve been slowly trying to upgrade my work wardrobe in an attempt to look more professional.  I’ve purchased a few new shoes, shirts, and work pants.  A few weeks ago, I was checking myself out in the mirror at work just as I was exiting the bathroom and noticed something quite horrible.

Panty lines.

Like, as in Granny Panty lines.

Not good.

That was the day that I decided it was time to try out the thong, again.  They’ve never been comfortable, yet I seem to remember hearing, somewhere, that they could be.

And so I began my mission to find the perfect thong, for cheap.

My search took me to Kohls where I found signs that said things like, “Barely There.” or “You’ll never know they are on!” and, “No panty lines!”

That sounded good to me, so I began to investigate.

The fairly benign looking panties looked really thin.

check.

No tag.

check.

Cottonish.

check.

Inexpensive.

check.

I was willing to try fork over the cash to these girls out. But just to be sure, I bought a pair that was a size bigger than I would usually buy.  (THE KEY TO A COMFORTABLE THONG, I discovered!! Trust me girls!)

I got home, washed them, and then tried them out.

The result?  I swear.  It’s like I’m not even wearing underwear.  They are so comfortable.

AND no panty lines!!

I began strutting around the house, work, and play with an extra skip in my step and bounce in my errr butt.

Feeling good, I began changing out of my work pants and into my sweats as I bent over, barely covered with my newly donned thong, when my son said, “Wooo Mom, your butt has really gotten BIG!!”

….

Um, excuse me?  Oh no you didn’t!!  I turned around and asked for him to repeat himself.

And he did.

So, as any good mom would do, I walked up to him, smacked him in the back of his head, and promptly changed back into my granny panties.

Ahem.

Kids.

I’m telling you, he is wrong.  My butt is NOT getting bigger…I think….I just feel more comfortable in a bigger size panty…. I swear! It’s not my butt… it’s the cut.  I hope.

Despite the size of my rear, I’m thrilled with my new find and my lack of lines.

And there you have it folks… my first post in months, about my booty.  Gotta love that!

Pssst, I’m over at SVMB today talking about a VERY SERIOUS addiction I have….  SOS send help in the form of Twizzlers….