Cliche in Slippers

I went to work.

I did a Secret Santa thing where I got a letter from an underprivileged kid and bought them a present for Christmas. I went to the mailroom to have them ship it off (the firm is nice enough to pay for shipping), and I looked pleadingly at the the mailroom guys to help me find the shipping labels and they just looked at me and said,

"You look like you've had a long day."

That's about the closest thing to an insult you can get. My self-esteem plummeted below sea level.

I went straight to babysitting. It's always an amazing example of timing when this family calls me. And it's usually about the time that I'm feeling that I couldn't be MORE done with my debaucherous lifestyle. And spending an evening with a very well-adjusted, smart, and inquisitive kid is just about the best therapy a girl in my position can get. I fixed him dinner; he just turned 8. It's about the time where their Playstation becomes far more interesting than making up weird games and being creative--it's all about the toys now. He played with it while I made dinner (let's not get all crazy, it's not like I'm Sharon--we're talking VERY simple). I thought we had a nice little conversation going while we were eating but mid-sentence, he jumps up and goes back to his SpongeBob Square Pants game. As soon as he was done, he was done with me.

Ah, damn. This is where they start getting too independent for you.

I clean out the dishes. And while I'm scrubbing the silverware, I let out a long sigh. I realize that this was the same sigh I heard my mother give whenever she felt underappreciated and weary. I sounded so like a MOM that it kind of freaked me out and I scrubbed a little harder. And that freaked me out more.

But like any boy, they all come crawling back to you around bedtime. Only the intentions are purer at 8, and I'm great at bedtime stories. Come to think of it, I'm great at bedtime stories with 25 year old boys as well, when the intentions are anything but pure.

I tuck him into bed and rustle his hair:

"Good night, goober."

"Good night. Come back soon, OK?'

"OK."

I come home and need to be about as Single Girl as I can be. I put on my favorite nightgown, that makes me feel fat--but the fabric is so lovely that it feels amazing against my skin. I sing Ani at the top of my lungs again (the boys are all out at some party that Derek's company is throwing). I fantasize once again about learning the guitar. I research bridesmaid dresses online, being unable to actually find out how much the one dress Sharon and I agree on costs. I crack open a beer. And I put on the fresh infusion of Sex and the City episodes on HBO on Demand.

All I'm missing is an army of cats and I'd be all set.

And for now, I'm okay with that.