Oh the Shame to Have To Cut Yourself Out of Your Own Skirt

A funny thing happened after one of those rare Friday nights this single momma went out on the town…at 2am the jaws of life had to be called in to cut me out of my favorite skirt. I wish I could say, at least, it was a decision made in the moment of passion and unzipping the zipper just didn’t seem like a fast enough option to get me naked and horizonal. No, that wasn’t the case. No exciting sextipade tales to tell you…. The truth is much more shameful, and had something to do with bad attitude black satin and delicious bar food.

It was probably the fact that I was so psyched to be going out that I didn’t do the necessary trying-on of 10 different outfits prior to leaving the house. It was a whirlwind of an evening: my original babysitter canceled 45 minutes prior to the time I was supposed to meeting my friends and ordering a martini, and I was heartbroken and pathetic for 5 minutes (woah is me! the unfair life of a single parent. Don’t I deserve at least one night of fun?) and then I got to work finding a replacement. I was determined to go out! For two weeks straight I had been counting down to the evening full of friends and attractive strangers and ridiculous flirting at a cheesy bar. I couldn’t give up that easily. This is what being a single parent is all about: perserverance! And though usually it applies to finding the energy and resources to make it through the day of juggling diapers, daycare, work, dinner email and bathtime (and a shower for myself), in this instant it applied to doing whatever it took to get my freshly shaven legs out on the town. When my parents stepped up and (so angelicaly) cut their own dinner plans short so they could watch Lucca for me, I didn’t mess around…I squeezed into my old standby skirt (a form fitting black satin pencil skirt, terrifically sexy and suggestive, but far from trashy and desperate) and filled up two bottles of organic whole milk for Lucca, kissed him goodbye with painted lips, and hit the town.

It wasn’t until I was halfway down the free way that I noticed how incredibly uncomfortable I was. My favorite skirt had betrayed me– all of a sudden it was 3 sizes too small. We all know that plants wither when they are left in the corner untended to by their owners, but can going-out skirts really shrink from neglect as well? Im sure it had absolutlely nothing to do with the fact that I ate every single Christmas cookie insight over the holidays…The pencil skirt was pissed off, and I was feeling like Peg Bundy.For all those nights it spent alone in my cold, dark closet instead of warm on my booty shaking hips, it was getting me back.

So the fried calamari and barbecue chicken casadillas was not the best idea. But what was I to do? I had a few martini’s and greasy happy hour apps are irresistible.

By the time I got home it was way passed my bedtime and I couldn’t wait to flip off my heels and fall deep asleep snuggling with my favorite little man, my son Lucca. Lord knows I couldn’t sleep suffocated in satin, so I did the only thing I could do…I took the scissors and cut myself out of my skirt. So sad. So very very sad. I loved that skirt… It was with me that unforgetable evening I was with Mr. Big, and at that Christmas party with the endless bottles of champagne. It was with me the night I took Lucca out on our first mother-son date at PF Changs. (Sure, he sat drooling in a highchair and wasn’t much for conversation, but I was proud of myself for dressing up and standing proud in my single mom status and a happy little memory was made). Now my favorite skirt laid dead on my bathroom floor, severed in half in two unmendable shreads.