“What is it, honey?”
She hesitated for a brief moment then craned her neck to look behind me to check out my butt. “We need to walk behind the car. I don’t want anyone to see you because you’ll embarrass me.”
“What?” I yelped. “I’m wearing workout clothes! How is that embarrassing?” She responded by giving me the stink eye and steering me out of visual range of her schoolmates.
I thought Miss Puff was being a little harsh considering what some of the other moms look like, one in particular. You’re probably expecting me to describe some poor woman dressed in Post Breakfast Chic: greasy haired and going commando in ancient sweats that are thinning in all the wrong places; wearing ugly glasses that are thicker than an Oreo because there wasn’t enough time to put contacts in; and, braless under the treasured collegiate beer-stained sweatshirt. While there are plenty of us, I mean them, dressed in this manner, the mom I’m talking about has never looked rushed. In fact, I’m quite sure she spends a lot of time on her appearance only to look like a hybrid poodle doodle in super duper stretched stirrup pants. There is no variation -- it’s the same hairdo (or hair don’t!) and outfit every single day. Now, if I was Miss Puff and that were my mom, I’d be sick to my stomach with embarrassment.
I don’t know this mom but I see her all the time. Why, just the other day, I saw her at the grocery store; I’ll be completely honest, I always stare at her because I can’t believe she goes out in public looking like she does…do you not have a mirror, lady? There we were, weaving in and out of the isles, passing each other, when I lost sight of her in the wine department. Huh? She drinks wine? Now I felt bad because of all the nasty judgments I’d made only to find out she’s a VinoMama too! I smiled to myself as I started towards the produce department.
It wasn’t until I headed to the check-out that I spotted my new comrade, one final time, as she was placing her items on a conveyor belt at a register. I stared and started to smile until I saw her pull a big bottle of wine from her cart. I knew in an instant that I had made a huge mistake -- not only did she have horrific taste in haircuts, she had deplorable taste in wine! Mamadoodle liked Yellow Tail – ahhhhhhh! I was so mortified by my colossal faux pas, that I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my greasy hair and buried my head in the latest issue of People.
I’m sure we’ve all made bad wine purchases that we regret, or worse yet, have served to friends and then died of embarrassment. An occasional dog is to be expected, especially if your highly skilled job is wine exploration. My only word of advice is try a wine before you start handing out glasses. The last thing you want to do is turn your friends into enemas, I mean enemies, by serving them wine that tastes like burped up vomit sweetened with a sugar substitute.