It happened again!
I’ve checked my visage and there is absolutely nothing missing, no nick, no snag, no lost jig saw part…
No piercings even!
Yet somehow my anatomy lets me down just as I’m dashing off somewhere.
I dutifully freshen my breath so I am pleasant to stand next to and there it is.
The toothpaste drool straight down my pretty red jumper (sweater for my American readers).
No disguising it by wearing a jacket all during the meeting, besides, what’s the point of wearing my pretty red jumper underneath something?
My mother was right!
“Always put a towel around your neck while brushing your teeth Vivienne,” then she’d rub furiously at the droplets of toothpaste on my shirt, which was white, and my tie, which was striped. I was oblivious to her ministrations, the damage didn’t show at all to a fashion ingenue of eight.
That I remember her words now, lots and lots of years later, is an indication that I had heard her but did not listen.
That I am standing surveying the steadily drying trail of pepperminty drool imprinting on my pretty red sweater is evidence that I also did not act on her directive.
She, as all mothers before and after her, knew something I didn’t about one of the genes she had haplessly bequeathed me.
A furious rubbing of the damned spot is futile. The wetter it becomes, the more froth is generated.
However, hope springs eternal especially when it’s in a wild frenzy to be somewhere and the pretty red wooly is a wardrobe must.
The water dilution works its treachery and the white dribbles subside. I slip on my jacket imagining that this time, when it dries, the pretty red wool will prevail.
With a wet chest I feel like a new lactating Mum who hasn’t discovered nursing pads yet, but I am confident that the dousing worked its magic this time.
At the last minute I grab an all encompassing scarf to loop and drape casually around my lovely throat and leave it hanging in soft folds over my jacket.
When I arrive I remove my jacket in the hallway where thankfully there is a mirror. I discreetly check my front before entering the room.
There it is, a white swath wending its startlingly bright little way towards my naval.
I envelope myself with the scarf.
“I know,” I say to my Mum in my head,
“toothpaste is impossible to spot remove.”
Your day will come pretty red jumper but not before a trip to the washing machine.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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