Move over, Dale, Sr. I’m coming through!
Don’t I look intimidating, especially with that mouth full of metal.
Intimidating is not a word that comes to mind when I describe myself. Let’s face it, I’m a forty-one year old pudgy mom with more than a few gray hairs (the hairdresser, bless her heart, says they’re highlights) crows feet, a bosom that is rapidly heading toward my toes, a potty mouth and a side of sass.
But I must bear the visage of one mean mutha because intimidating clings to me like a crop-dusted fart.
Case in point:
The other night I e-mailed The Diva’s teacher about an incident at school (don’t ask) and asked her to call me the next day. I wanted to say a lot more, but I tend to be blunt (another clinging fart I can’t shake) so I kept it short and sweet. Hey, I said please! Imagine my surprise when the phone rang about an hour and a half later and it was the teacher. Hmmm, that’s quick, I thought. This can’t possibly turn out well.
She started off by saying she’d prayed for quite some time before returning my call.
Seriously? While I’ll admit I may drive some folks, well, Himself anyway, to drink, I don’t think I’ve ever driven anyone to pray before picking up the phone. Usually it’s me doing the praying when I hear the words ‘Mrs. Bowen?’ on a call from the school.
I think this is something I should work on a bit harder. If I’m intimidating at my current age and state of physical awesomeness (hahahahahaha), how far up the scariness scale could I get with a few modifications? Perhaps a facial piercing or spider web neck tattoo….