I am trying my damnedest to stick my neck out. Or my hand. And make friends. Mommy friends. People from Em’s class or women I see at the park. I adore the friends I have. And I don’t make the time to see them as it is, so why should I not try to add more people to the rolodex of folks I seem to ignore in favor of going to bed at quarter of eight by the light of Bravo?
Nonetheless I had said I was going to try.
And this morning while jogging an opportunity presented itself. This is not how I usually dress when I try to pick up chicks. I saw her car pull up at the park. She had two girls around Emily’s age, one with her bicycle. She was wearing exercise capri’s and sneakers and had the 2012 Mom Summer Haircut. I watched her from the other side of the walking track. On I ran, pondering changing my route so I could pass by her a few times, scope her out, but that seemed absurd. And as I finished my third mile around the park I noted that she and her girls were by the swings, which is totally near the water fountain…
So I said… “Yeah, not to say “Do you come here often?” but umm… I do… and that is how I know you don’t actually come here often… so I just thought I’d say hello.” Then I rambled on a bit about how I’d planned on running Monday through Friday in the morning, between eight and nine and maybe her girls could entertain my older daughter and we could jog or plan on meeting up “and it could be like a thing.” That is what I said. A thing. Like I asked her on a date but was scared to call it that. Or give her my number.
I can remember a hundred years ago going back to the same bar over and over again because a guy I’d liked might show up there again. All I ever got was drunk. Maybe I’ll just keep going back to the park. Only this time I might get healthier instead of broke and loaded.
So… I floundered at the end. But I was feeling kind of awesome this morning anyway. When I got out of the shower I looked at myself in the mirror. And with the handheld liposuction, you know where you hold your stomach up, thereby eliminating the hanging post partum marsupial skin (note that I have spared you a picture of this) I didn’t look half bad. I felt good.
I pulled on a favorite pair of Old Navy cargo pants, elastic waist band, drawstring really, but they were pre-baby pants. I felt kind of normal. And good. Tomorrow is the first day of my summer as a mostly stay at home mom of two and it was gonna be cool. I grabbed my pita pocket sandwich, my diaper bag and my kid, slipped on my totally adorable purple flats and headed out the door. Lucy dropped her toy. I bent down to grab it and did not drop my sandwich or spill my coffee.
But I split my fucking pants. Eh. Can’t win them all. If this gal ever shows up at the park and we chat and she likes me I’m totally gonna tell her this. “So I was feeling all rad for trying to make a friend. And then I split the ass in my favorite fucking pants. You’d better be worth it.”