Avoid those snickers; put on your knickers

Mornings are crazy.

By the time I pull into the garage at work, a 30-minute commute at best, I’ve already made two separate trips to deliver my children to two different schools.

There’s barely enough time to get myself together.

But I don’t care how late we are, or how hectic things get, I don’t leave the house until I’m completely dressed.

Sure, I could save a few minutes by jumping into the car in my pj’s. Who would know?

Who, indeed.

One morning, when my first child was in elementary school, the carpool traffic crawled at a snail’s pace. When I finally made it to the entrance I noticed my next-door neighbor’s empty car blocking the lane. Curious, I parked and went to investigate.

I heard the noise before I got to the office. And I walked into a wild scene.

My neighbor, a woman who was usually composed and well dressed, stood there wearing only a short, stretchy, mid-thigh-length T-shirt. Her feet were bare. Her hair was wild and she wasn’t wearing any make-up.

With a screaming toddler clinging to her leg, she was roaring into the phone. Remember, this was before everyone had cell phones. She’d had to come inside to make the call.

It was obvious she was talking to her husband by the way she bellowed Yes, it was an emergency, and Yes she did need him to come right away and No she was not shouting but if he wanted to hear some shouting he could just go ahead and take his time getting down there!

The office staff cowered behind the counter, polite smiles frozen on their faces. Through the window I watched a steady stream of irate parents driving up to and around the parked car.

I wondered why my neighbor would abandon her car and cause that kind of traffic jam. Or why she didn’t just pick up the baby and leave.

“Hey there,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” She shrieked, wheeling on me. “What’s wrong?”

I felt my face freeze into the same goofy smile the office women were wearing.

“You want to know what’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” she exploded. “I ran out of gas!”

Obviously, only the car was empty. She was still firing on all cylinders.

“We were running late so I jumped out of bed and didn’t stop to put anything else on,” she shouted, shaking the phone at me. “I mean, what could happen?”

“Look at me,” she wailed. “I’m not even wearing underwear!”

I wanted to laugh but didn’t dare. Suddenly, it was all clear.

My neighbor had tempted fate. She’d used the most dangerous words in the world. Everyone knows you never ask “What could happen?”

And the bizarre scene at the school was proof.

Now, she was stuck in the, um, upright position, unable to move. She couldn’t bend over to get the baby or reach over the counter to hang up the phone. With so many cars in line, she couldn’t even risk walking back to the car. One wrong move and it would be “show and tell” at school.

Her husband finally arrived with gas for the car and jeans for her. The screaming baby was buckled back into his seat and the family drove away.

Everything settled down, but you’d better believe we all went home with something to think about.

Now, no way, even if it costs us a few minutes, do I leave the house without getting dressed. And I mean from head to toe.

Because I’ve seen what can happen.

And it’s the worst.