Amazing Astronomy

So I was having a pretty good day. My skin was clear, my roots hadn’t started to grow in, and I was damn close to perfecting my new summer cocktail. The planets must have also been in alignment because my kids and my husband were all happy at the same time. I know from experience that doesn’t last more than a day at best, so when it happens, I appreciate the peace. For example, Charles didn’t even flinch when he got to the lunch table and discovered that I had packed him a sandwich with no filling. Sure, he used it as a platform for his daily standup routine, and I later swore that I did it on purpose, but since he didn’t call me and I didn’t have to drag myself to school in the middle of the day, I can hardly complain.

I didn’t even let my sister, Amy, get me down when she called in a panic because her three-year-old came walking off the playground with a deer leg in her fist like Moses parting the Red Sea. Yes, a real deer leg, fur and hoof intact, likely riddled with germs, maggots, and Deer Ticks carrying Lyme Disease. The poor kid thought it was a goose leg, and I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse, not in regard to the germs and disease, or in regard to the fact that it was absolutely disgusting, but in terms of her pre-school animal identification skills. “She wants to know where the rest of it is,” Amy cried. And it struck me as odd that she wouldn’t explain to my niece that it was probably lying on the side of the road, chewed up by traffic and crows: her kids have no big love for animals, and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have been upset about it. Any kid who can pick up a heavy piece of carcass and tote it around the monkey bars is tough enough to learn about roadkill. But I have been accused, believe it or not, of being harsh and insensitive, so bearing that in mind I thoughtfully replied, “Just tell her there’s an angry, three-legged, deer running around town looking for his lost leg and if he doesn’t find it soon, he’s going to come looking for her!” After she hung up on me, I was feeling especially good, that my kids are too old for playgrounds, and I went back to my lair to catch up on “Celebrity Apprentice,” passing the hallway mirror on my way to bask in the glow of my pimple-free face.

I know what you’re thinking: “D. Parker, karma can be a bitch.” Of course you are correct. I’d guess things started to take a turn when Maverick emailed me a bunch of photos from a recent soiree we attended. Why on earth I had posed at least a dozen times with a woman  who happened to be ten years older than me, but looked ten years younger, is something I will ponder for many days to come. Suffice to say I will never make that mistake again. For that matter, I’m done posing for photos altogether because while I’ve been marching through my forties worried about losing my figure, counting the wrinkles on my forehead,  and debating the effectiveness of Botox over “Frownies,” I had not concerned myself for a second with the condition of my neck, despite all the warnings from Nora Ephron.  Clearly a big mistake.  Let’s just say if I ever leave the house again I will be doing so donning a turtleneck or a scarf, which might be challenging in the warmer months, but I really don’t see any other option. I immediately emailed Maverick with an order to CEASE AND DESIST sending me links to any photos that might include my countenance. To which he responded that I was being ridiculous, and what was I complaining about he had touched up all those photos anyway.   He will pay for those words, dear reader, he will pay.

I felt the changing of the tide and went by the mirror again, on my way to the bathroom, just to check that I wasn’t developing a stress-zit. Surely now it was just a matter of time. Seconds later I realized I had bigger things to worry about, when I discovered that my underpants were on backwards. Not too big a deal if I had just gotten dressed, but the truth is that I had been dressed for several hours already. All day, to be precise. Also not a big deal if you wear granny panties, upon which I cast no aspersions.  I wear a thong. “How on earth did you walk around like that all day and not realize it?” Bianca and her friends were incredulous. I had no answer.  But trust me when I tell you it was not purposeful, and no, I was not feeling “tingly” all day.  Maverick was much more sympathetic: “Don’t worry about it, you’re not officially losing your mind until you put your bra on backwards.”

He will pay for those words too.

Because I have already put my bra on backwards. Twice. It happened to be my sports bra, but I can’t lie, it did fit almost as well as it fits frontwards, and I did manage to get through an entire tennis game the first time, before my partner noticed the tag flapping on my chest.  Don’t ask me about the second time.  So, so sad.  I paused to consider what this all meant when my reverie was interrupted by a familiar tingle.  Not the good kind of tingle, but the kind that heralds a giant zit.

And the planets quietly slipped out of alignment.