My faculty Christmas party happened last night. We met at a locally owned steak house and proceeded to gorge ourselves. The chief arrived stylishly late because I was tempted not to go. But when I arrived home and the Chief yelled, "I'm out of the shower," and I knew we'd be going.
I crawled into my bed with my clothes on and slept for twenty-thirty minutes. (There had been two wrecks on the way home, I'd stayed at school to check kid's IQs, grade, write a test and watch one of my boys wrestle.) Then, I got up and rubbed the smudges of mascara out from under my eyes, went downstairs, and said, "Let's go." The chief scurried up the stairs and put on her outfit and changed out her workhorse purse to her fancier pocket book (her Brahmin not her Ferragamo).
When we arrived at the place, the Chief made quite an impression on everybody. The Chief was on Sparkle mode. That's what my sister and I refer to her playing at the height of her game. The chief sparkled: she unruffled all the feathers I flustered, she carried the conversation at the table while looking exquisite. Everyone came up to tell me how beautiful my mother is. Everytime I responded with "You don't have to sound so surprised!" She did look lovely, sophisticated, and an understated festive. She more than made up for my slept-in look and I'm-exhausted mood. She earned her filet mignon. I was very proud of her.
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