Married . WithOUT Children
“You are NOT going to believe what just happened to me!” Marianne screamed into the phone as soon as I picked it up early the other morning.
“WHOA Nellie, it’s only 8:30 a.m.,” I pointed out to my best friend, having just poured my first cup of coffee and still trying to wake up. “What could possibly have happened already?”
Not that I was sure I wanted to hear about it. .
But apparently Marianne’s three children had been running late that morning and missed the school bus. So in a mad dash, Marianne had to drive them herself.
“You should have seen me!” she went on. “My hair was standing on end as I didn’t have time to brush it, and I was still in my flannel pajamas and slippers with my sunglasses on. .”
“I don’t think there’s a law against driving in your pajamas,” I said, wondering why she was getting so worked up about it. “What’s the big deal?”
Marianne started laughing.
“Because I got PULLED OVER!” she said in disbelief. “In my PAJAMAS! That’s, like, every mother’s worst NIGHTMARE!”
Personally, I was just glad she had flannel jammies on and not some of the naughtier nightwear I know she owns . but nevertheless. .
“Please don’t tell me the cop made you step out of the car,” I prayed, knowing full well that Marianne looks as bad as I do first thing in the morning. “Why did you get pulled over anyway?”
Marianne was stopped because she didn’t use her blinker as she was pulling away from the curb at the school.
“Wow, I think that’s a felony offense,” I said in all seriousness. “Did he read you your rights?”
But fortunately, Marianne happens to know most of the local police through her business dealings.
“He didn’t recognize me at first until I lifted up my sunglasses . and you should’ve seen the look on his face,” she giggled. “Then he asked if it was OK if he gave me a warning ticket.”
No thanks officer, I think I’ll take what’s behind curtain number three. .
“What did you say?” I asked.
“Oh, I hit the gas and sped off,” she said sarcastically. “What do you THINK I said? Of course, I took the warning!”
I envisioned the scene with Marianne, who is normally meticulous about her appearance, sitting in her car mortified at being caught undressed and uncoiffed.
“Did he give you a ticket for driving ugly?” I said, thinking that perhaps that WAS a felony.
Marianne didn’t think the comment was too funny. .
My own mother had always warned me never to drive with safety pins in my underwear in case I got in an accident. This always baffled me, thinking that if I was SO injured that my clothing needed to be removed, who would pay attention . or care?
“Oh my GAWD,” the emergency room physician would exclaim, as they cut off my clothes and worked feverishly to save my life. “LOOK! She’s got safety pins in her underwear!”
I relayed this helpful hint to Marianne.
“Why would you have safety pins in your underwear anyway?” she asked, puzzled. “Although I can tell you from experience, don’t wear thong panties when going to the doctor for a physical. .”
Why would anyone wear thong underwear anyway?
But I could understand Marianne’s embarrassment.
“Don’t feel bad. I go out in my pajamas and slippers with my hair standing on end to get the newspaper off the front lawn every morning,” I said, trying to make her feel better.
“Oh, your poor neighbors,” Marianne sympathized. “I’ll bet the property values in your neighborhood have all gone down. .”
Later that afternoon, Marianne called me again.
“You are not going to BELIEVE what just happened to me!” she gushed. “I had a mud pack slathered all over my face and the doorbell rang and I thought it was the kids having forgotten their key and .”
Before she could go any further, I put down the phone and stuck a forefinger in each ear and began singing at the top of my lungs. .
New Castle Heidi Rice’s column appears every Friday in the Post Independent. Visit her Web site at http://www.heidirice.com.
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