So while today’s tale doesn’t truly qualify as a memoir because it just happened over the weekend, I am
blatantly ignoring disregarding the rules of the genre and posting anyway. Because I’m a rebel like that.
The Mommyologist did a post last week about Bringing Mom Sexy Back. If you haven’t done so already, please read it here. Ladies and gents, The Mother Load brought Sexy Mom back Saturday night. In a big way. And I have the
dirt photos to prove it. I wore makeup (shocker), my new earrings and I even ditched my tennis shoes for a pair of black booties. I dared to wear a slinky Banana Republic top that’s been hiding in the back of my closet for over a year with the tags still on it. I shook my money maker and belted out the lyrics to Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” although I can’t carry a tune and sound like a sick cat when I sing. I really wanted to do Madonna’s “Material Girl,” but I was out voted. Which was too bad because I was totally channeling Madge Saturday night. I might’ve even sounded better singing something I’ve known all the words to since I was nine. Oh well—next time, maybe (if there is a next time!).
My other Bringing Mom Sexy Back friends were right up there with me. We bonded over beer and a bad karaoke band. They didn’t even have the tv’s, man. No little ball bouncing over the lyrics. We had to strain and squint at a single piece of paper we all had to share. Not the ideal karoake situation, to be sure. But we didn’t care because we were the shit.
The Mommyologist describes her Bringing Mom Sexy Back Moment:
“Since I’d gotten over that initial “new-kid-in-school” first night fear, I was able to get into a better groove and let my guard down a little more last night. Actually, I think I let my guard down a LOT. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but as soon as Shakira started playing over the speakers, a feeling of empowerment came over me, and in that moment I went from being a stay-at-home mom with A-cup breasts, a bit of a muffin-top, and a dimpled tush to a complete and total sex symbol.”
I really related to this. I’m not Karaoke Girl. I’m not Slinky Top Girl. I’m not Makeup and Skinny Jeans Girl, either. I’m usually Dirty Sweatpants Mommy, Three-Days-Since-I-Showered-Mommy and Mommy Who Yells A Lot. But Saturday night I threw that baggage out the window along with my sports bra. I put on that Mom Sexy persona. I walked the walk and talked the talk–for a little while. And you know what?