As I found myself driving into the parking lot
in my silver Dodge Grand Caravan, you know, the one with the "Stow 'n
Go" seating for all kinds of flexibility, seating, and storage options, I
had second thoughts. This was so not
my kind of place. I am comfortable just about everywhere, but this place was a
stretch. Even for me.
I shifted the car in to "P" and
flipped down the visor to apply my lipgloss in the light-up mirror. Then I
fluffed my hair, gave myself a winning smile, flipped the visor back up, and
climbed out of the van. Never before has the "toot" caused by the
remote control lock for the minivan seemed so out of place – the announcement of the arrival of a woman who
clearly does not belong – as it did in that
parking lot on that day.
I looked around nervously, hoping no one would
see me. I couldn't have looked more suspicious. This was a pretty sketchy part
of town and I didn't need anyone to see me hanging around. Most people wouldn't
understand why I was here. I wasn't sure I could explain it either. My thoughts
wandered to marathoners, who, when asked why they run, answer with the
unsatisfying, "Because I can."
When this got out, I was pretty sure I'd be
judged, and harshly, by my peers. Your every-day, average, suburban mom didn't
do this. Was I your every-day, average,
suburban mom? Or was I just a little
bit... hip? Oh, who was I kidding? It wasn't too late. I could just get back in
the car... While I would have been less conspicuous under cover of
darkness, that wasn't going to work with my schedule today. I had a small
window of time to get this done. You
know, seize the day and all that jazz.
Earlier, while ignoring my children at the
outdoor playground/hell on earth at McDonald's, I called my husband and told
him what I had planned. I'd been thinking about it for some time, 20 years in
fact, and I felt I had given it ample consideration. I was finally ready to do
it. What the hell? Today was as good a
time as any.
"What are you going to do with the
kids?" he asked. Duh. I was going to
take them along with me. While he was out playing Ultimate Frisbee, we'd
finished our errands, and had the rest of the day free. After all, they'd just
eaten a nutritious lunch and were getting their exercise all in one
conveniently germ-infested location, so clearly, it would be fine for them to
come along. Which is what I told him. Duh.
"Tash! You can't take them with you!
They're six and eight years old! They don't belong there!" he exclaimed.
Um, what? They don't belong there? Huh? Our kids were pretty worldly, you know, for kids that haven't
actually seen much and still get really excited to take the subway into Boston,
just 12 miles south of our sheltered suburban home. They were cool. They could
totally hang. Right?
Yeah... no. He was so right.
They still felt the need to point out every
smoker they saw loitering outside of a building, reminding me how "totally stupid" it was to smoke
because they were "going to die" from it one day, or at least get
"really, super sick." Note that this was especially cutting, given
that "stupid" is now
considered a bad word with the elementary school set.
They liked to discuss the tattoos they saw on
the guy who pumped our gas, along with just about everyone else in modern
society, and reflect upon the choice that person made to have that particular
design emblazoned on his or her body for eternity. "Those things are
permanent, you know. Like, when you're as old as Oma and Opa, they'll still be
there. Will you want that?" they'd caution me.
They'd talk at length, for weeks, about the
waitress at the Mexican place on Route 1, that wore bad lip gloss, too much
eyeliner, and had a stud in her cheek, tongue, eyebrow, nose, wrist, thyroid,
and likely countless other places that were thankfully covered by the pesky
clothing required by her day job.
Yeah, he was right. I totally couldn't take them.
Shit. I was going to have to do
this alone.
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