I’m your typical divorced 35-year-old woman with two young children. I live a hashtag momlife when the kids are with me, and when they leave for dad’s I wash my hair, put on some lipstick and my skinny jeans.
Some women’s magazines will show you how to transform your look from day to night, but I call my magical transformation going from Mom to Night. Mascara is a key component. Shaving is optional.
You saw me two hours ago at Whole Foods. I was the one wearing yoga pants and something crusty spilled down my jacket. My daughter was coercing me into making
a stop at the candy section in exchange for her decent behavior. My son was karate chopping the apple display. I was pushing one of those ridiculous carts designed as a car that my children begged for and then boycotted actually sitting in, so I’m left to maneuver that childless kid-Buick for the sole reason that it prevents a meltdown. You probably didn’t even notice me, because unless my kids are licking the glass at the deli counter, moms are invisible.
But now, you think you’ve struck gold with this shiny, showered, brunette sipping a bourbon on the bar stool in front of you. You just missed that I demanded a mama pour when I sat down. (And any good bartender obliges with a healthy-looking beverage.)
There are no tricks or traps going on, my Mom to Night appearance has nothing to do with you. Believe it or not the only incentive here is that it just feels really damn good to be showered and talking to adults.