Make Believe

I played Make Believe with hubby the other night. Nooooo, it wasn't a bed-time fantasy either.

He had some shinding downtown at Millenium Park or which I now fondly call, "Bean Park." I mean, that bean thing is beautiful, but what's the point, and isn't that the same sculpture thing that Tiffany's sells as a line of jewelry?

Anyway, I had to get all dressed up, but this was AFTER a day of the usual mom stuff, plying Tukey away from my arms as I sent him off to Preschool (which, he is getting better, but it'll all be screwed up again next week when he has his tonsils removed and misses a few days of school). So, a usual day, combined with making a list for the babysitter, trying to organize the kids' schedules that afternoon since I would be gone, which is a job 'in and of' itself. (What the hell does that phrase mean anyway, "In and of itself." I don't like that - it's stupid sounding, but I felt like writing it.)

So, I quick grab the two eldest from the bus and hightail it to Tukey's prison (aka preschool) because I've got like eight minutes in between the arrival of Diva and Ajers and the dismissal of Tukey. That makes for some fun driving, let me tell you!

Rush home, fast-quick get ready, which thankfully, all my hair involves is bending at the waist, blowdrying it quick upside down, flipping back up and a little bit of hairspray, which, by the way, is the cheap stuff but it works. No other hair products -- go ahead you metrosexuals, hate me! Throw on the clothes, which is a designer skirt with fun red, black, white polka dot design print from TJ Maxx & More. I just realized I could have asked everyone "Hey, what's black and white and red all over?" and the answer would have been ME!

Next, my neighbor friend drives our girls to gymnastics while her one-year old flings milk from his sippy cup all over, including my top. No biggie, it's not like I'm wearing silk -- polyester stretch is easy to clean up! Get to the train and I feel like a grown up. There are no children there. Just adults. Getting on the train going home from work. I am totally out of my element. I mean, where do I pay for me ticket, how do I know when to get off the train? Where is the drink cart so I can get a freaking glass of wine?!?!?!?

I get to the city early, and Hubby tells me to go to the bar at Union Station and have a drink since he won't be there yet. So, I do. And it feels weird, but exhilarating at the same time. I've only gone to a bar by myself ... well, never, really, unless I was already wasted, and I probably don't remember that.

I order a glass of Pinot Grigio and sit there, trying to look... well, like I'm not alone. Because there are work people (GROWN UPS!) all around me having cocktails after work, chit-chatting about their day, what's up for the weekend, etc, and here I am wondering if the neighbor picked up Ajers for soccer yet, and how Tukey is doing with his separation anxiety.

I slam the wine. I tinker with my cell phone, pretending to look important. I think the guy next to me is probably cute, but I'm too scared to look his way, and when I do, I see he is smoking Camels so any cuteness factor just went out the door.

Hubby calls. I am saved. I leave the station, meet up with him and we go to another place, China Grill, where I get a delicious appletini, complete with cinnamon-enhanced apple slice and a stale cocktail cherry.

Later, we meet up with some of his co-workers, and I beg them to let me sit with the wife, because she is a mom who is pregnant and we have SO MUCH IN COMMON! We both have children, we both have been pregnant. I am saved.

At Millenium Park, it is truly beautiful. I've not been there since it was created, and I wish I had more time to explore the area, but heck, the bar set-up at the event was about to close because dinner was being served in these huge, I mean really huge, big tents. But before we go into our designated dining tent, we have to smile at some important people; I met a senator or two, but couldn't tell you who they were, what they supported, why they were there... I am soooo not politically-inclined.

All the time though, I kept a smile on my face, kept my shoulders back and my boobs out, laughed when I thought I was supposed to. And I felt like I was starring in a movie, and it was all a big pretend thing, and inside my head, I laugh to myself, and think, "Do these people know I enjoy playing with sticky tongues and fake poo?"

Next up, where I'm sure I'll also feel completely out of my league (because there will be twenty-somethings abound with low-cut slinky dresses and cornacopias of fake boobies) -- Chicago's ultimate event, The Green Tie Ball. Where I'm thinking, anything goes....