“Oh, so sorry we are late. Traffic was crazy.”
This is the generic response that I usually spout off when I am late. And I’m ALWAYS late; sporting events, parties, weddings, you name it. But I beg you, do not judge. There is typically a much more interesting reason that I am late. That would be one of the many REAL ones. Here are a few:
- I spent 20 minutes looking for my sunglasses…that were on my head.
- Each one of my kids could only find one shoe.
- I haven’t shit in a week and took laxatives last night and the gentle overnight relief decided to literally kick me in the ass right when it was time to leave my house. And…I don’t shit in public restrooms, or other people’s restrooms. EVER!
- I needed a Diet Coke and even though the line in the drive-thru was wrapped around the building, it was just SO fucking worth it to be late.
- My husband and I were fighting and I had to get rid of the intense need to strangle him before we walked in.
- I had to let my Xanax kick in.
- I couldn’t find my keys and I looked all over the house. I was so stressed that my eyes started watering and then I finally found the damn things in the same drawer I had already looked in five effing times. Then, I went to check my face to make sure it didn’t look like I had been crying and somewhere along the way I set my keys down and they were once again lost.
- The outfit I was going to wear was in the washer.
- It took my son 17 minutes to brush his teeth, because he just sat there and let the water run and made faces in the mirror.
- I set the alarm and woke up on time, but I spent 30 minutes lying in bed, scrolling through Facebook and “liking” everything.
- I forgot everything I was supposed to bring and had to go back home to get it all.
- I have poor time management in general.
- There was a Golden Girls marathon on, and that little firecracker Sophia just leaves me in stitches and I had to finish the episode.
- I put on jeans and I felt fat in them, so I changed into leggings, but couldn’t find shoes that looked cute with those, so I put on another pair of jeans. Unfortunately, those showed too much muffin top and so I started throwing shit out of my closet and yelling at my husband about things totally unrelated to the real reason I was upset.
- I couldn’t find my two year-old.
- I really didn’t want to be the first one to show up at this event, so even though I actually would have been on time, I don’t like awkward situations so I drove down side streets until a few more cars showed up.
- I couldn’t find my cell phone anywhere because I was talking on it.
- The baby pooped right when I had my hands full and we were walking out the door, so I had to change his pants. By the time I was done, my older son had already taken his shoes off and couldn’t find them.
- My dog ran out the goddam door as we were leaving and I had to chase her all over the neighborhood while my kids screamed and sobbed in our driveway as if the world was ending, thus drawing attention of all of the neighbors, while I was running like an idiot calling a dog that doesn’t listen to me any better than my children do.
- I’m just a really effed up mess who doesn’t have my shit together.
So, if you ever see that mom that’s trying hard to smile through her tardiness, don’t judge. She’s probably just an effed up mess too.
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