Shannon Day is wife to one gorgeous, yet slightly overbearing, Brit and mom to 3 little ladies. Once a teacher, now a story maker and occasional cocktail shaker, she shares her tales, martini recipes and her shenanigans over at Martinis & Motherhood. Shannon is a regular contributor for BLUNTmoms, where this piece originally appeared, and is co-founder of Tipsy Squirrel Press. You can find her on Facebook, and Twitter.
Editor’s note: This is probably the closest Sweatpants & Coffee will ever come to posting an Op Ed. We’re still trying to process this.
You weren’t my usual type, yet I felt drawn to you at first sight. Your allure was undeniable, and before I knew it, my hands were all over you. Inspecting, caressing, and imagining you on me. At the thought of all the things we’d do together, I made a decision then and there. You were coming home with me.
$16.99 later, plus the $100.00 worth of additional and inevitable Target purchases, we exited the store and were homeward bound.
I could hardly wait to get out of my restrictive yoga pants and into you.
The sky was the color of you, grey. Not quite fifty shades of grey, but grey nonetheless. It was the perfect kind of day for the two of us to share some quality couch time together. I didn’t know it just then, but you were about to become my favorite mistake.
The moment I slid my legs into you, I knew you were a good fit. You felt like home to me—saggy and baggy in all the right places. I’d never felt so comfortable, so accepted. That moment marked the beginning of a love affair so foreign and all-encompassing that I became blinded for days, as to what was going on (or not going on) around me.
We’d become inseparable.
The moment I woke up, I reached for you… Ok, ok- who am I kidding? We slept together every night. I just couldn’t bear to part from you (I did shower, though!). It’s just that you felt so good.
I wasn’t ready to admit it, but the truth was: with you in my life, all other things had fallen to the wayside.
It wasn’t until day three, that I started to tap into the adverse effects of our time together. We’d “become one” so quickly that I’d, sort of, lost my bearings. You were hindering my productivity and this needed to change but I felt completely helpless to your lure.
I would verbalize my intentions daily, hoping that would give you hints as to what I needed from you. “I am going to be cleaning this afternoon,” I’d announce each morning, feeling hopeful. But when the evenings rolled around, I’d be no further ahead. Still optimistic that you were good for more than just one thing, I’d end the day with plans for a better tomorrow. “What a busy morning I’ll be having,” I’d say, willing it to be true.
I’d wanted so much for you to have my back, for you to support me in the things that I needed to do. But you couldn’t do that, could you? You cared more about your own agenda, which was just being with me, on the couch.
Cracks in our union were starting to show.
And, I admit it- the affair was beginning to feel trashy. Dirty, even.
My daughter’s birthday party was the next day, and having indulged myself over the past days with you, I now had tons to get done around the house. So, I ignored your silent pleas and I went out to cut the grass. I also decided to drain some rainwater off the pool cover, with a pump that would send the water across the front lawn and out onto the street. The decision to combine these two activities would be one that I’d soon regret. In the short term, anyway.
I was only a few laps into my lawn mowing venture, when a cruel twist of fate landed me on my ass. My foot had slipped in the waterlogged grass and somehow, I ended up with wet slicks of dirt on my left knee and on my right ass cheek. I was up in a flash, though, and with an energy level that you’d most certainly disapprove of, my lazy lover.
So, I finished cutting the grass looking like a lopsided Sasquatch. I then went immediately back inside to do laundry. It was the first load I’d done all week.
And there it was. A forced separation. I felt naked without you as I squeezed into my yoga pants. Yuck. They felt awful. I was eager to get back into you, where I belonged, yet a little part of me knew that a break would do us both some good.
The dinner hour arrived, and then it was bath and bedtime. After that I vacuumed and dusted, hung up streamers, blew up balloons and filled goody bags. I was in motion again, and it felt pretty great. Many hours went by and, I’m sorry to say, you didn’t even cross my mind.
I’d forgotten about you. And, man, did I ever get a lot done!
We spent the rest of the night, and all of the next day, apart. It was a fun party and, if I’m honest, it wouldn’t have felt right having you there. You’re not really classy enough. Sorry, but it’s the truth.
We were reacquainted later that night, and though it was good to be together again, something felt different. Had the washing machine rinsed away your appeal? It seems our time apart hadn’t made my heart grow fonder. I didn’t know how or why, but the fact was, the spark just wasn’t there for me anymore.
The honeymoon period was officially over. Our short-lived love affair had been a case of too much too soon, I’d say. It’d been good while it lasted but you need to hear this, my dear sweatpants, you’re too needy and selfish and indulgent and the fact is: I’ve got shit to do! I’m a busy mom, and I just don’t have time for you right now.
I’m sorry it had to come to this. I really am.
Photo credit: “Casual work at home day” by Quinn Dombrowski is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.