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Fluffy Slime and Cherry Red Lipstick (a.k.a. The Working Girl's Blues)

Little Sunshine brought home a science project assignment a couple weeks ago.  She had volunteered to make "fluffy slime".  I did not know there was such a thing.  But apparently it is a YouTube video staple.  She excitedly told me that she was going to do "research" on her tablet to find a video to help us.  She made a list of ingredients and very seriously and slowly (sometimes I am insulted by her estimation of my intelligence) explained to me the importance of making sure I went to the store to get everything, and she meant everything, on the list.  I think she even shook her finger at me.

I resisted the urge to cross my eyes and stick my tongue out at her.  I must admits she gets it from me after all.

So the next day during my lunch hour, I went to Walmart and quickly gathered the list she had given me.  MOM OF THE YEAR!

When we all met at home that evening, I proudly handed her the bags with all of her supplies.  She grabs them and tells me, "Oh, I forgot to tell you I already had the foaming soap."  I waited for her to follow up with something like "But you are the best, mom!"  "Thank you so much, I love you!"  or even "Well done, servant."

But, I got nuttin'.

She informs me that I should make a note that we will need to make the fluffy slime on Wednesday night so she can present her project that is due on Thursday.  "Yes, Master."

Wednesday arrives, she rides the bus home and calls me at work:  "Don't forget we are making slime."   "I remember, I have to finish working."  "Ok."

My phone rings two minutes later:  "Uh, mom, I have everything out and ready."  "Ok, I will be home after I finish working."  "Ok."

Four minutes later:  "Yeah, um mom, what time do you get home?"  "I'm wrapping up and I will head home in a bit."  "Ok."

Ten minutes later:  "Are you on your way?"  "Yes.  Leaving now."

Ten minutes after that, as I am literally pulling into the driveway:  "How much longer?"  As the garage door opens, I see feet on the other side, and I answer:  "5 seconds".  She giggles as she hangs up.

I was informed I was to join her in the kitchen to "supervise".

The Mad Scientist got to work and apparently fluffy slime was created.  She was happy.

The next morning, the Mad Scientist turned into the Absent-Minded Professor as she forgot her project on the kitchen counter.

Angry call 1 from El Hubbo:  "HAVE YOU LEFT THE HOUSE YET?"  "No."  "Will you go to the kitchen and see if YOUR daughter left her slime?"  "Yep."  "SHE IS GONNA PUT ME IN AN EARLY GRAVE!"  "Hmmmm, like father, like daughter."  "WHAT?!"  "Seems like I remember an award-winning salsa maker leaving his salsa behind recently."  He hung up on me.

Angry call 2 from El Hubbo:  "YOUR DAUGHTER!"  "Why do keep saying she's mine?  You have no proof - she looks like you!"  "QUIT!  LISTEN!  She just called me from the office and told me she FORGOT that the project isn't due until NEXT Thursday."  "Ok."  "SHE'S GOING TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK!"  "I don't think that is something she can give, maybe you should calm down."  He hung up on me.

So.....about the Cherry Red Lipstick in the title:  (I knew you were wondering....I'm getting there, I promise.)   Recently, I found myself in the makeup section of the store staring morosely at the lipsticks wondering what neutral shade of mauve/pink/boring whatever I was going to get.  And then I saw a tube of cherry red lipstick.  It made me think of my grandmother.  She wore red lipstick.  She had an old-world classy sense of style that I think she inherited from her English ancestors.  She never went out with out her makeup and hair affixed perfectly.  I happen to look just like her.  Like in a scary way.  Except I am missing the old-world classy sense of style and I resent every day I have to fix my hair or put on makeup.  If you took her face and put it on a big ol' Irish farm girl, then you would have me.  Regardless, I was inspired, and I bought the cherry red lipstick.

Today, I finally got up the courage to actually wear the cherry red lipstick.  I kept it freshened all day and thought of my grandmother frequently.  I imagined she and my mother were probably having a good laugh at this as they both were frustrated by my overall lack of concern over my appearance most of the time.

Ok, so I'm beginning to actually get to the part where I tie these stories together.......(glad you have hung in here so far.....)

Little Sunshine informed me as soon as I got home that we would need to make more fluffly slime tonight after Bible class.  Ok.

We go eat.  I touch up my cherry red lipstick.  We go to church.  Little Sunshine walks in the door and immediately goes to the restroom.  Not a good sign.  I check on her.....looks like we have "tummy issues".  And, boy was it "issuing".  Great.  I go round up El Hubbo and Number One Son and let them know we need to go.

We may have exceeded the speed limit driving the 25 precarious minutes home.

Little Sunshine ran inside and got changed and then came and told me we needed to make her project or she would get a zero.  This is the child that gets good grades because she cares.  (The other one gets good grades because he fears his mama.)

So, I tell her to pull all her ingredients out.  I go change into my normal attire of well-worn t-shirt, capri sweatpant things, and pull my hair up into a messy knot on top of my head.  But, my cherry red lipstick was perfectly affixed.

I go to "supervise" the slime-making project.....and Little Sunshine informs me we have no glue.  Apparently this is a key ingredient.  She did find some glitter glue.....how about we try it?  Go for it.

It didn't work.  Of course.  Fear of a zero brought out the tears....and I died a little inside as I faced the fact I was going to have to go to town.

I grab my keys and wallet and jump in the car.  at 8:19 PM I am driving to town.  Here you need to understand that as I make my way into town, I enter a part of town that may be frequently showcased on our local news channels.  Not for good reasons.  A sane person would probably have chosen to drive a little further into town to reduce the odds of a mugging, but I was tired, surly, had my "Harley Tucker" walk (Pure Country movie reference), and was generally relying on the fact that I look like too much trouble to tangle with.

Praying the dollar store would have glue, I pull up and enter the store.  I was greeted by a heavily-tatted clerk who looked like possibly he had been recently paroled.  I was not to be deterred.....as I search for glue, I get a call.  "Um, yeah, mom?"  "Yes?"  (I don't know who she thought would answer.)  "yeah, I can't find the shaving cream.  I know it was on the counter and I have looked everywhere and "........her story went on and on, but I was not listening as while I might not have had enough common sense to seek a store in a safer neighborhood, I do have just enough to know I should probably pay attention to my surroundings.  Finally it grew quiet:  "So, I need to get shaving cream.  Got it."  The shaving cream was easily located, but there was no glue.  UGH.

I put my can of Barbasol on the counter at the checkout and the tatted clerk decides to strike up friendly conversation.  I'm not the best at talking to people I don't know (or even those I do know for that matter), and I could not for the life of me figure out why he was talking to me.  And I think the expression on my face probably revealed that.

I grab my Barbasol and unlock my car and throw it in.  And then I decide to walk next door to the big grocery store and get the glue.  Surely, they will have glue.  Now, I have seen some interesting things at this grocery store.  Actually, I should say, interesting people doing interesting things.  Interesting things that should catch the attention of the local authorities.  Trips to this store are often entertaining for me, and El Hubbo has expressly stated that I am banned from going there at night.

It was night, but I was on a mission, and so the ban was not going to be heeded.

I was not disappointed.  As I strode big and bold toward the door, I passed several "ladies" hanging out.  Oddly, there were some "gentlemen" hanging out near them.   As I entered the store, it occurred to me I had just walked strait down the middle of a pimp/prostitute gauntlet.  Awesome.  And the path back to my car would take me right back through it.  Great.  Nothing to be done now but to just get on with getting my glue.

No glue.  Double UGH!

What is up with no glue in this town!  Is there a run on glue?  Then i remember some people use glue for purposes other than what it is designed for and that is probably a common thing in this area of town.  I take a deep breath and start to stomp back out of the store.  I purposefully scowl at the "gentlemen" and mentally record descriptions to give to the police (just in case) and I see one raise an eyebrow and lift his chin in customary gang greeting style.  This confused me.....I had just given the challenge cue that any attempts to engage me will be met with physical resistance and I got a "hi" in response?  I must be losing my touch.  And then it dawned on me......the "ladies" aren't like what you see in the movies all dressed up with teased hair and inappropriate outfits.....they have on t-shirts (some admittedly exposing more than others), sweat/yoga-pants, somewhat extreme makeup.......not dressed too differently from me, and I have on CHERRY RED LIPSTICK.

I hurry to my car, equal parts appalled and amused at what just floated through my brain.  I went down the road to my third store of the evening where I managed to score (I feel that an appropriate word-choice given the neighborhood) THE LAST BOTTLE OF GLUE.

I hurry home, "supervise" the science project, and wash my face.  El Hubbo asked what took so long.

I replied, "I think I was mistaken for a prostitute."

His head snapped around, he gave me the "please, continue" look, and I told him......"You'll just have to read all about it on the blog."

I don't know why my grandmother chose cherry red lipstick, but it sure made for a good story for me!


(Note:  El Hubbo would like me to inform you that the "Working Girl's Blues" title was his idea.)

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