Hidden Perils Of The Linen Closet

Yesterday morning, I was struggling with my still newish, un-MILFy haircut, trying to wrestle it down into something that didn't make me look like a decomposing Tilda Swinton. During the battle I cut my hand on my own hairdryer, causing me to bleed all over my Banana Republic career separates.

After working my way through all of my favorite expletives (The Boy – (“Mommy, what does (rhymes with rock pucker) mean?”) I grabbed a Band-Aid from the messy bin in the linen closet and doctored myself up.

After changing into a new blood-free outfit, I passed out hugs and lunches, wrote a preemptive note of apology to The Boy's teachers for when he repeated the new words I'd taught him, and headed off to Dunkin Donuts (the High Ridge location if you're keeping score) for 24-ounces of sweet caffeinated salvation.

With the double D in my car cupholder (because there ain't no D's in my other cupholders - The Evil Twins can barely muster up a 34A nowadays) and twenty minutes of driving ahead, I tried to put my mind through the mental gymnastics that help me get into work mode. I had a big presentation to give to our senior executive team, and I didn't want to LOOK like as big of a jackass as I was FEELING like on this particular day.

Flash ahead to noon. I had just finished delivering my shockingly brilliant presentation. It was jam-packed with every feature and function that Powerpoint has to offer: charts, graphs (of the pie, line, AND bar varieties), bullet-pointing, animations. I'd dazzled them with forecasts, projections, conclusions, educated guesses, visionary speculations. I used words like "paradigm shift"and "step change." I had props and prototypes. I had my admin order lunch. Serving food in a meeting is the corporate equivalent dropping an atom bomb. It never fails shock and awe the meeting participants.

But my magnificence was met with silence. Finally, one of the women spoke up. Six heads in various phases of graying and/or baldness swiveled toward the sound of her voice.

“Hey,” Female Executive That I Used To Like Said Loudly. “Is that a Hello Kitty band-aid on your hand?”

Why yes. Of course it was. And eff you thank you for pointing it out. My head began to hurt from the noise coming from the spectacular explosion of my professional reputation.

Six heads whipped back to stare at my hand, watery eyes blinking behind glasses, waiting for my response. It was like a bunch of drunken frat guys watching Anna Kournikova and Maria Sharapova play Wimbledon naked.

“Um, yes," I replied. "They sell them at Target." If I didn't sound stupid enough, I added helpfully, “And they have My Little Pony ones too.”

“Good to know," said Female Senior Executive Who Unknowingly Spared Herself A Blog-Lashing. "I need to get some of those - my daughter injures herself all the time. Now, let’s talk about your recommendations. I think we should move on them right away….”

Life Lesson #1: Sometimes, the Power of Mom can be your saving grace.

Life Lesson #2: Always look before you Band-Aid.