Admit It. You Wear Zit-Cream to Trader Joe's Too.

Because if you have a child you are LYING when you say you do not. LYING I tell you.

For me, it's just a thing I have like how some people have terrible hyena-laughs or a third nipple. For me, I have the ability to embarass myself constantly without knowing, at least not right away.

Like in high school when I got the balls to confess my love and desire to make sweet third-base with a neighborhood boy, only to come home feeling proud of my bold statement, crushed when I smiled for the mirror to find the biggest piece of spinach between my two-front teeth.

There was also the time I got bird-pooped on (my head, hair, back) and kept on strutting down Rodeo, flaunting the oversized Louis Vuitton bag I had just spent my rent-money on. (I may have had a slight spending problem in the past.)

There was the time with the face mask and the booty-call. I somehow forgot to remove the thing after my booty was called and woke up stuck to my sheets and wondering why booty-call-dude never said anything. Perhaps a Shrek fetish or worse.

I'm the person who always ends up sitting in the one puddle on a sunny, summer day. (WTF?) and as far as the spinach-tooth incident goes, I have a spinach incident pretty much once a week. I'm always stained, dirty with something, confident in my ignorance, strutting my stuff like an oblivious fool.

Having a child does not minimize this problem even though I figured with all of my new attention to detail it would. Ha, no. Sadly, my little problem has gotten worse.

It's been very hot so clothes are not an option at the present time especially because we do not have AC. 109 degree weather and you'd be cardio-stripping too. Lately, I answer the door in whatever's in grabbing reach, sometimes a trench coat, sometimes a board book, never anything appropriate. No better way to frighten away the Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, Scientologists, Republicans, UPS guy. (Wait! UPS guy! Come back!) I also always seem to burp while on hold with Health Net just at the precise time the operator clicks over. I think it's safe and then "Hello, Ms. Woolf?" Or worse? Sometimes I'll be mid-pee on speakerphone. "Hold on! Just one second-- just washing my hands over here. Heh."

I like to think I am somewhat put together but lately I seem to arrive everywhere with something out of wack, a face half-made up, two different shoes. (Hey, if Carrie pulled it off in Sex and the City. Look, it's me! Bex in the city! Drum roll! Oh! Okay, sorry. See? Even my sense of humor is awkward and unrefined! WWAWD?*)

I pulled another "How the hell did you leave the house like that" moment the other day when I caught myself in the reflection of the frozen-Morningstar-goods section at the local Trader Joe's. Oh. My. God. My face was freckled with zit-cream, dried and cracking zit cream like that terrible photo of Britney Spears (see above). I was horrified. I madly spat on my hands, rubbing my face wildly, pulling my hair over my face in Michael Jacksonian disguise.



Did anyone notice? Um, duh! But at least it was low-tide (before noon) so there was only minor foot traffic, most of which being Hasidic Jews who don't exactly run in my social circle, pediatrician aside.

To make myself feel better I did what all respectable Angelenos do after calling too much "negative" attention to themselves, I got on my cell phone and started talking really loud about my agent and how excited I was for my seven-figure movie deal and "Hahahaha, oh Mr. Weinstein, you are SUCH a doll..."

And like that I was cool again.

In other cities I imagine it isn't so easy or maybe it is. You tell me, readers because I'm kinda thinking maybe I'm not the only peep flaunting oxy-10 this season, accidentally of course but nevertheless.

So admit it, people. No more lies. Come clean. You're in a safe place. Here, I'll pass you my cell phone. Speilberg's on line two and holding just for you.


GGC

*What Would Anna Wintour Do?