Most weeks I accompany them to church.
I do NOT blog about religious stuff here. And this post isn't about that. Not really.
So this morning, I decided to forgo my sleeping in for healthier pursuits: a trip to the St. Paul Farmer's Market. Now, being in the 'burbs means this is a bit of a hike. But since I didn't see any snow this morning, I was determined to bundle the kiddo up and make the trek with my husband and roommate.
We get there and it was so windy I expected the horse-drawn carriage in front of us to go over at any moment. But we parked, got out, and fought our way through the wind to get to fresh produce. I'm THAT dedicated, you guys. This day, opening weekend of the farmer's market, has been on my calendar for a MONTH! Frost-bitten baby be damned, I was going to get my rhubarb.
Yeahhh, except there were approximately 8 vendors there. Almost all of whom sold meat or soaps. Even my favorite hummus vendor (Seriously, Deena's is the bomb) had brought a paltry amount for selling.
So five minutes later we crammed ourselves back in the car, turned up the heat, and really turned up the pouting.
As I said, I make an effort to go to church with Scott and his dad. But sometimes during busy times, it's one day I take to myself. Today was that day. I had a few appointments and errands I needed to get done today, so I sent them on their way.
With the diaper bag that held my wallet and cell phone.
Luckily I had Scott's cell memorized and managed to get him from my land line. He had just arrived at church and rather than have him put Wee 'Burb back in her carseat and drive home, I met him at church. But because his dad hadn't arrived yet and he had claimed a coveted seat in the lobby (last week at Easter, Wee 'Burb yelled out "Elmo" just as the priest was getting to the resurrection. It's imperative we not sit in actual church for this reason), I had to run in and grab my stuff.
I was dressed in yoga pants and a fleece.
It was apparently First Communion Day.
Now, one would think the fact that I was dressed this way and parked with hazards on in front of the church would be an indication to those STARING at me that I was not going to be attending mass today.
In my hurry, I noticed people were extremely dressed up. But did not yet realize it was First Communion Day.
I used to be one of those people, by the way. Being a lapsed Catholic, I was always taught growing up you dressed your best for church. It's taken me much convincing to show up there in jeans. MUCH convincing.
Anyway, so I'm frustrated and still in a bad mood and I hear this man BELLOW to his wife, standing not two feet from me, in his khakis and polo shirt "Gee, honey, and I thought I was underdressed!"
Which of course caused other people to turn and stare. Which of course caused me to immediately blush and tear up. I ran and got my stuff, whispered "I am so embarassed, I need to leave" to Scott and ran out the door. I didn't even say hi to Wee 'Burb who just stared at me like "who is this flash of orange that sounds like my mommy?"
Once I was done the humiliation, I got a little angry. I've seen people show up to church in Vikings jerseys, white tops with black bras, skirts that show wayyy too much skin, stripper heels, flip-flops, you name it. I'm not perfect. I tooootally judge!
I'm just nice and appropriate enough to wait until brunch to sigh and go "oh my gosh, did you SEE that???"
I have no moral or question. This is purely a vent post from a girl with a beer trying very hard to salvage a cranky Sunday. Thank you for your time.