Hot Mom

I once saw a young guy wearing a t-shirt with the words, "I {Heart} Hot Moms" printed on it.  Sure, it was cheeky...but I have to admit, it made me smile!

Here's the thing:  I've never really considered myself a "hot mom."  (I'm much too squirrely for such a title.) 

At thirty-one, I have as many pimples as most fourteen year old girls.  (I know this because I have made comparisons while standing in line for the Twilight movies.)  I don't have time to wash my hair most days.  Though I adore Sephora, I could probably use a couple of pointers on how to apply makeup.  I wear a retainer at bedtime.  If I don't, the gap between my two front teeth starts to look like Letterman's.  I love to wear my pajama pants almost as much as I love to eat tacos.  And if it wasn't for Joann at "Wax Me Too," my gnarly brows would look like Martin Scorsese's.

Or Peter Gallagher's.

Remember THIS post?

Or Sean Connery's.

(You get the idea.)

A couple of days ago, I decided to "doll" myself up.  (No "frumpy mom" for me!)  I put on my new, red and white striped shirt.  I pulled out my skinny jeans with the teeny tiny rhinestones on the back pockets.  I wore shiny flats with little bows on the toes.  I remembered to put on red lipstick!

McHubby called from work and suggested we get together for lunch.  I loaded the kids into the car and drove to the mall (a good "half way" point) to meet him at the food court.

After Cam had dumped most of his chocolate milk down the front of his shirt, and after we had snarfed Chick-Fil-A nuggets, it was time to part ways.  James had to get back to work and I HAD to make my way to Bath and Body Works to smell all the new Christmas candles.  As I walked through the mall--with a bulky, sticky, messy stroller, and a prancing pre-schooler, and a two-year-old "mooing" like a cow--I began to notice something.  Attention from strangers.

The elderly man sitting in the plush lounge chairs outside of Macy's smiled at me.  The obnoxiously "shmoozy" dudes working the "Exotic Serums From The Center Of The Earth" kiosk did not offer to obliterate my crows feet with their magical lotion, but rather winked and smiled at me and said, "Hello."  The bearded guy working in Bath and Body Works (yes, he was even wearing an apron) stopped restocking shelves of anti-bacterial hand soap long enough to glance my way.  Even the middle-aged man working the counter at Mrs. Fields (hey, I wanted a cookie!) did a double-take when I approached the glass case.

I couldn't believe it.  "What is going on around here?," I wondered.

Had I finally, FINALLY obtained "hot mom" status!?!  I mean, holy guacamole,  I was wearing a cute outfit and red lipstick and I WAS GETTING CHECKED OUT!  I left the mall feeling giddy (and not at all frumpy) and holding my head high.

When we got home, I slipped into the bathroom to use the "potty."  (Too many Diet Cokes at lunch!)  I looked down to undo my snazzy jeans and was met with SHOCK and MORTIFICATION!!  The perpetual light bulb clicked on above my head, and suddenly all the attention I was getting made perfect (and embarrassing) sense...

My ZIPPER was already DOWN!