This weekend I did something way outside the box. I signed up for a literary tea. I mean, I’m literary. Aren’t I?
Although I wouldn’t classify this here blog as a literary masterpiece, I do occasionally play around with words and get them to line up in semi-coherent sentences. I also read. And above all, I drink tea.
While I was doing my hair, my son came and stood in the bathroom doorway. He asked where I was going, and I did something stupid – something a mother should never do. I asked my son a probing question about my appearance.
“So, do you think I look like a writer?” I asked.
“No. You look like a mom.” He said.
“Really? Because I was going for the writer look today.”
“Well, then you need a fancy suit and a desk and glasses.” He informed me.
“I have glasses, you know. And I’ve been telling your father that I desperately need a desk, but writers don’t wear suits. Why do you think that?”
“They always wear suits and fancy glasses in their pictures – the ones on the backs of the books.” He told me.
“Well, writers dress a lot like me. Most of the time they wear fluffy bathrobes and slippers and sit in front of their computers.” I felt I should exonerate myself.
“Maybe if you dry your hair and put some makeup on it will be better.” He said, trying to be helpful.
“I’m wearing makeup.”
“Oh. I don’t know then.” And he left.
In comes child number two.
I looked at her in her penguin hat and asked my second stupid question of the day. “Do I look like a mom or a writer?”
“A mom.” She said without hesitation.
“But why?” I asked. “I mean, I love looking like a mom. Being a mom is my favorite thing ever, but I was trying to look more like a writer today.”
“It’s because I’m standing right next to you. See?” She moved in, right by my side. We stood looking at our reflections in the mirror – I in my mom suit and her in her penguin suit. “Now when I move away.” She stepped outside the door. “You look like a writer.”
Hot Dog! I love her logic.
Writer it is.
Off to my literary tea I went, where as it turns out, I was the only person not dressed in black. I guess I looked like a mom after all. Silly me, writers do not wear brown. Nope. Moms, we wear brown from time to time. We also look like moms, even if the kids aren’t standing next to us.
Moral of the story:
Getting dressed is way overrated.
Go buy a desk and a pair of fancy glasses.
Have you done anything outside of your comfort zone lately?
Please do share!