It was bad enough that my fellow moms were about to see the worn tracks in my carpet, the nicked paint on the walls, and the rest of what passed for decor in my house. Adding in the hair would probably tip things into “Poor Molly” gossip extravaganza. But a hat didn’t go with my “good” sweats — after an overzealous application of bleach once, I always clean in clothes I don’t mind being stained or ruined by cleaning products. Then I got a text from my mother, reminding me, once again, of the time her plane was landing and stopped worrying. It was worth being gossip fodder if I could mitigate even half of the stream of constructive criticism that was going to be my due for the next few days. Deb was working, so I didn’t expect her to come. She’d sent a supportive text this morning, Glad you have some help…especially glad I have to work. Because my doorbell doesn’t work half the time, and I often don’t hear anyone knock (a boon when it comes to solicitors, politicians, and random do-gooders), I kept walking out to the mud porch to check if anyone had arrived early.
