Auburn Gal Always

I'm either very cool (kewl!) and have much of the hotty hot stylishness about me

OR

I'm olympic class stupid

Hold your applause to the end, please.

So...

Today, I returned some things to Sears and found some really cute things for Lucky to wear next fall/winter/spring when he should be approximately 12 months size. I even got a cutey little Christmas outfit for him with the sweetest black corduroy pants and an obnoxiously sweet snowman sweater and (don't tell The Mighty Hunter) a turtleneck. For $8.00. Wow. Someone should probably rescue my son from my genetic nerdiness.

Then I rushed home and fetched my borrowed Dirt Devil vacuum that had been emitting a stinky, hot rubber belt smell for months. (Who loans a vacuum out that stinks? I mean what kind of friend is that anyway? sheesh!) But that smell was wonderfully gone when I began vacuuming. Oh, and the belt that had been stinking? Well, it made the brush roller thingy spin. It did before it broke. Which was the source of the stinky, hot rubber belt smell of previous months. Yeah, so I fetched it and took it to the vacuum repair shop where they had a replacement belt for $3.

I'm excited that I'll be able to vacuum tomorrow. Yes, I'm insane. But my floors need sucking. Really, they do. vroom vroom suck suck. lots of suckiness, but the good CLEAN kind that removes allergens and dust and hairballs from my floor. Then I have an idea that is worth annoying the vacuum repair shop guy with another cell phone call.

me: I can replace the belt. It would take me probably 15 minutes. I'd probably skin my knuckles. The Mighty Hunter would insist on using a hammer. And we'd probably say some words we'd have to receive forgiveness for from Stinkerbell.

vacuum guy: yeah. It's not hard to replace.

me: But how long would it take YOU to do?

vacuum guy: 5 minutes maybe.

me: and how much would that cost me?

vacuum god: $3

me: do NOT leave without replacing my belt today. I desperately need to vacuum the dust and long-girly-hair-balls off my floor.

vacuum god: umm, ooooookaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy.

So, I get Stinkerbell from school and drop off the Dirt Devil and take her to singing lessons (Nee Nay Nah Noh Nuuuuuuu.)

I return to vacuum god's shop and pay the $6.24 for reviving the Dirt Devil. $6.24. Little does he know that I would have paid much MUCH more for his time and energy. Lots more. Like $8.67 for sure.

This part was just for fun and to brag on my RIGHTEOUS bargains of the day and amaze you with my Olympic class rambling skills.

and the gold medal for annoying writing style goes to....

So... I return to park on the street outside Stinkerbell's singing lessons. Lucky is STARVING. Call the Bad Mommy Police. He has never eaten in his entire 4-week life (Holy Lord. FOUR. WEEKS. Where did the time go?) He has already had 4 ounces of formula. What's a mommy to do? I can breast feed him.

Living in a very small Southern town. Parking on the street of the very small Southern town. Breastfeeding in my Mamamobile on the street in the very small Southern town. Covering up with Lucky's little car blanket to tiptoe around the sensitivities of the very small Southern town. And: I'm a little shy about showing the boobs to just any ol' body in my very small Southern town. I'm picky that way.

Yeah. So...

I'm covered up and Lucky is filling the bottomless pit that is his tummy. All is going well. I have plenty of time before singing lessons are over. Cover up side #1 and sit him up to burp.

UUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPP (an alphabet-burper in the making)

Lucky continues to fill tummy on side #2. He's now verrrrryyyy sleeeeeeepyyyyyy. Sit up to burp.

UUUURRRRRRRRRRPPP (sleepy baby, no burpy as big, ugh)

So, we snuggle for a good looong time. Yummy baby snuggle.

We have time to change his diaper before we sneak inside to listen through the door until end of class. The floor of the Mamamobile behind my seat is perfect for diaper changes. In the middle of unsnapping his little "Woof! Woof!" onesie, my cell phone rings. It's in the console - up front - still. Open front door again. Answer phone, step back to Lucky's position at sliding door.

What is that drafty feeling?

Put cell phone on shoulder because I'm the only person in the US without a bluetooth earpiece. My head is now cocked to the side and down a little.

What is that white flash I see underneath my neat, new black button-up, hang-to-dry, do-not-iron top? (that actually does NOT need ironing! no joke!)

(I also have it in white and MIGHT go back to buy it in chocolate and dark red too. Cuz I just love it!!! and it doesn't need ironing! Thank you Jesus!)

Now what was that white flash?

It's my bra.

My not-at-all-attractive-or-sexy-nursing-bra-from-6-years-ago-when-I-nursed-Stinkerbell-that-I-am-using-again-because-I-can't-find-one-that-I-like-any-better bra, and NO NURSING BRAS ARE PRETTY. PERIOD. They're all ugly. And I've tried several.

blech!

And I've been flashing myself on the street of my very small Southern town as everyone rushes home on a Friday afternoon, one block from the post office, at the corner of our main street and 3rd street, white under black.

So...

kewl or stupid?

I've been taking fashion lessons from Britney.

Except for the color pallate.

And the funky hat.
And the boob job.

**Sorry for all the extra spaces. Dang Blogger wasteful spaces.