Just Another Feather in my Cap

January 26, 2010

Contest Update: Let us all take a moment to bow our heads and offer a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the fact that I'm not a cruise director. Or your financial planner. Or the President of The United States. Honestly, if I find this ass contest to be so overwhelming and difficult to manage, what on earth would I do in a position of actual leadership and authority?

I'd hide under my desk and eat Cheez-its all day. That's what I'd do.

So basically, if you're not Bootchez, Maraiya, Morgan, or Smdc, you have until the end of the day to send me an updated picture. Kelly, you can still be in it, too.

Bum's the Word is really carrying the lead. I've said it before and I'll say it again--the girl is playing to win.

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And in other news: I recently embarrassed the living hell out of myself. Shocking, I know.

Yesterday morning I picked James up from school, and since it was my afternoon to be in the office, we headed out toward his babysitter's house. As we turned onto Main Street, James casually said, "So Mom. Ya know my new teacher? The one with the really hairy hands? And the really hairy fingers? My teacher who looks like a werewolf?"

"Uhhh, no. I don't know about that teacher. What does he teach you?" I asked, thinking that James might have been talking about a substitute.

"I don't know what he teaches, but he has hairy fingers and hairy hands and he lets us play with his prickly ball. He's just like a werewolf."

At this point, my mind was officially racing. "Did he teach your gym class today?"

"No," James replied. "He's my new teacher at church."

"At church? You have a new teacher at church who's super hairy and lets you play with his prickly ball?"

And James was all, "Yup."

Since I tend to overreact, jump to conclusions, and generally assume the worst about people, my heart was thumping, my pits were sweating, and I was mentally cycling through our Ward list, trying to decide which man is the hairiest, creepiest, and downright evilest.

In a moment of desperation, I dialed my friend Danielle, who's three-year-old son Andrew is also in the class. Here's brief recap of our conversation...

Danielle: Hello?

Me: Try to stay calm while I tell you this. It's completely crazy.

Danielle: Okay.

Me: There's some really nasty creep teaching James and Andrew's Sunday school class. He's super hairy and he acts like a werewolf. And apparently (said in a whisper) he's letting the kids play with his prickly ball. I can't tell you why he only has one ball, but Danielle, this is the worst thing ever. We have to find out who this is. I swear I'll call the cops.

Danielle: It's Matt.

Me: I don't even know a hairy, creepy Matt! They have a stranger in there with three and four year-olds? This is HORRIBLE!!!

Danielle: My husband Matt.

Me: Oh.

Danielle: James gave Andrew a prickly, rubber ball for his birthday.

Me: Right. Welp, send Matt my love!

Just another feather in my cap, people. Just another feather in my cap.