"Okay, give Mommy a hug!"
Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall as my four year old barreled towards me with the force of a hurricane, nearly knocking me over in the process. I laughed, barely reaching my arms around him before he ran off towards my mother's old Chevy van -- a relic from the days when I'd still lived at home.
God, had it already been ten years?
My son turned and waved as he reached the van. "Bye, Mom!"
I waved back as he climbed in, watching to make sure my mother fastened his booster seat correctly. Damn things were a pain to do up even when you knew how.
I waved at my daughter, who was already seated and buckled in.
"Bye, Charlotte, I love you! Have a good time with Grandma!"
She looked at me, forced a smile, and turned away. I rolled my eyes. She was only six, but her attitude was that of a girl twice her age. At least.
The beautiful summer sun warmed my skin as I stood just outside the front door and waved like a fool as my Mom drove away, laughing as my son mimicked my actions.
My eyes followed the van as it drove down the street and disappeared around the corner. Only then did I let loose a sigh of relief. Freedom! I did a little happy dance as I closed the door, excited at the prospect of having almost an entire day by myself.
Don't get me wrong, I love my children, but some days you just need to be alone, you know? Today, the day I was finally going to buy a van, was one of them.
I'd been fighting it for almost seven years -- since the day I found out I was pregnant, actually. The vision of my older self had haunted me for months: Fifty pounds heavier, wearing stained sweatpants and yelling at my kids as I threw open the door of a minivan. No. Fucking. Way -- I'd never drive one.
That's the fun of life, isn't it? No matter what bullshit you come up with about your future, you're always wrong. Every single time.
It really was time to retire the little four door Mazda I'd had for eight years. It had treated me well, but enough was enough. I was tired of having my seat kicked when I drove. I was tired of my kids being close enough to hit each other. I was especially tired of having no goddamn room for anything larger than a suitcase.
Finally, after years of scrimping and saving, my husband and I had come up with enough to put a healthy down payment on a new van -- and finance it for a few years.
I was excited to get a new vehicle. Even if it
was
a minivan.
Sighing, I shook my head. Hard to believe that was the most exciting part of my life. But, as a thirty year old with two kids, you take what you can get.
I ran upstairs to change, trying to ignore the piles of folded laundry still sitting on my husband's side of the room. I scowled, muttering curses under my breath. It wasn't enough that I did his laundry, he bloody well expected me to put it away, too.
Ugh. Men. How they ever earned the title 'head of the household' was beyond me. Every woman knows who really runs a home. I tried to imagine my husband tackling even half the work I did on any given day. We both worked full time, but it was always up to me to clean, make meals, and pay the bills.
I laughed out loud. He wouldn't make it an hour.
Still smiling, I approached my closet. Okay. Time for clothes, not thoughts about douchebag husbands. He was gone for the day -- playing golf with his buddies.
I took a deep breath. Out of sight, out of mind.
Four outfits later, I'd settled on dark skinny jeans, a long flowing shirt in emerald green that hit right in the center of my ass, and black calf-length heeled boots I'd only worn once since buying them a year ago. I'd fallen in love with them at the store, but never really had a reason to wear them.
I wasn't usually one of those desperate women who confused the grocery store with a nightclub. Today, however? I totally was.
I checked myself out in the mirror and smiled at what I saw. My body may have been through two births, but I'd managed to slim back down to my pre-pregnancy size ten a couple of years ago. No modeling agency would ever break down my door, but I thought my weight suited my five foot eight frame pretty well.
Sauntering to the bathroom, I completed my yummy mommy transformation with a bit of powder, some eyeshadow and a touch of mascara. I looked hot, if I didn't say so myself.
My self confidence was soaring, something I rarely indulged in. Sure, my kids told me I was pretty -- which always made me smile -- but it wasn't the same as a man telling me. My husband hadn't told me I was pretty in years. Since I had the kids, actually.
I wrecked my body to bear his children and suddenly I'm no good for him?
Fuck him.
I banished him from my mind once more and shot myself a sexy smile in the mirror. The purple on my lids warmed the hazel of my eyes, and my shoulder-length chestnut hair was tumbling to my shoulders in soft waves. Hot. Even my cleavage was looking pretty stellar, all round and delectable in my rarely used push-up bra.
Who says you can't toot your own horn once in awhile? I hadn't bothered to look this good in years, so I was damn well going to make sure someone appreciated it. Even if that someone was myself.
I sighed. When had I become so pathetic?
Probably the day your husband stopped looking at you like a woman and began seeing you as his caregiver.
Right.
I scowled. Enough of this shit.
I checked my watch. Good. Only 9:30. Plenty of time to check out a couple of places before lunch.
* * *
Half an hour later, I was praying no one had noticed my rusty old Mazda pulling into the Chrysler dealership. I was hoping to scope out a few vehicles on my own before the sales vultures swarmed. It was a beautiful day, though, so no doubt I had only minutes. Better hurry.
Rushing out of the car, I walked as briskly as I could to the line of vans I'd seen on the drive in.
Nary a salesman in sight. Perfect.
The first two vehicles I dismissed right away. White and silver. Boring! I saw twelve of those a day.
Looking down the row, my eyes zeroed in on a dazzling, electric blue finish. Now
there
was a colour you didn't see on a van every day. I walked towards it, intent on my mission.
"Do you need any help, Ma'am?"
Jesus! I jumped a little at the sound of a man's voice behind me.
Christ, these salesmen were quick. I must have been out here not three minutes.
I turned and smiled, noticing his eyes running up and down my body before landing on my chest. He was probably fifteen years older than me, but it felt damn good to be checked out.
I wasn't ready for any sales pitches, however. I wanted to take the time to pick the right vehicle for my family.
"No thanks, just looking for now." I turned away, hoping he got the picture. He hesitated, but I kept my back to him -- the universal sign of 'Fuck off, I don't want to talk to you.'
