Some people drown their sorrows in drugs or alcohol. Some turn to the gym in times of stress. Still others take up yoga or listening to recordings of humpback whales to relax when things get tense. Me? I turn to chocolate. Or cookies. Or coconut cake. Or brownies. Or well, pretty much anything in the dessert family. My name is Dawn Meehan and I have an addiction to refined sugar and carbohydrates.
This year I feel stressed out from my job. I told my boss I'd rather lose my house, live in a cardboard box, and eat dirt than to go back to work there in the fall which is really saying a lot since I'm not entirely certain I can live without the aforementioned dessert fixe on a regular basis. Still, I suppose if I'm not stressed out from my job, I won't need those chocolate fixes and I can make do nicely with the dirt diet.
On the way home from work today, in an effort to destressify before picking up my kiddos, I blasted Duran Duran as I cruised along with my windows open. Sometimes you're just in a Duran Duran kinda mood. I was feeling better as I drove, the wind whipping my hair around and the scent of orange blossoms from a nearby grove filling my nose. I turned the radio up a little louder and sang off-key because I had no kids in the car to make fun of me. Then I got behind someone driving 20 mph in a 45 zone and slammed on my brakes. In a huff, I muttered something about buttmunch drivers and maneuvered my van around the Caprice. As I passed the car, I glance down to see if it was an idiot texting or a senior who couldn't see over the steering wheel and had the reflexes of a depressed sloth. That's the thing about Florida - you get the nice weather, but you pay for it in other ways. Like sharing the road with the bingo crowd who also migrate south to enjoy the nice weather.
Feeling stressed out once again, I reached for the candy bar stashed in my purse for emergency situations - hurricanes, nuclear war, getting stuck behind the Where's the Beef lady. I scarfed the chocolate while being very careful not to drop any little chocolate shavings on my light-colored pants. The secret to successfully sneaking chocolate is to make sure your kids don't hear you open the wrapper, and that you don't leave behind any evidence like chocolate smeared across your pants.
When I arrived at the school, I hopped out of my van, eager to scoop up my kids and hear about their day. I was feeling pretty good about myself. My hair lacked its usual Roseanne Roseannadanna look and was freshly straightened and smoothed. I was wearing a cute new top and a pair of pants I hadn't been able to fit into for nearly a year. I sauntered into the school, shoulders back, head held high knowing that anyone crossing my path was bound to whisper to their friends, "Who IS that amazing woman?"
I smiled at the YMCA director and chatted with her, giving her my usual countdown to the weekend. "Two more days!" I said. We chatted for a minute, then I looked at a dad waiting for his son. I smiled. He gave me an odd look. He must be trying to refrain from throwing himself at me because I look so good today. Brooklyn ran out and started chattering about her day. I made a brilliant reply then glanced up at the dad to make sure he heard how witty and wonderful I am. Did he just raise his eyebrows and smirk? I can't tell if that's a good look or he's scared of me.
Brooklyn and I moved toward the door as Clayton rounded the corner and met us. "Hey Clay! Did you have a good day?" I asked as we headed out to the car.
He gave me a quizzical look and asked, "Is that chocolate on your face?"
"Huh? Chocolate?" I asked.
"Yeah. Did you have chocolate? What's on your face?"
I ran to the mirror and looked and sure enough there was chocolate smeared across my face. I don't mean a little spot of chocolate that might be mistaken for lip gloss or a freckle or even a booger. Nope, I had enough chocolate on my upper lip to look like Hitler. I couldn't have gotten more junk on my face if I'd tried! I groaned. So that's why I was getting odd looks!
Great. Now I have to explain why I had chocolate and didn't save any for the kids. And, more importantly, I can never pick my kids up from school again. Yep, I am one class act.
Can't get enough? See what Dawn is up to over at Babble!