Putting On My Dressed-Up Feet

Tales of a Totally Ridiculous, Typically Aspie Me

Today hubby and I traveled two and half hours down to Charleston, SC, to meet with a financial/budgeting counselor.  (This in my opinion was a colossal waste of time, and not an appointment I was looking forward to—but after my 150^th (at least) financial binder that got thrown aside again, I agreed to give it a try.

I can always tell how my day is going to go the minute I step into the shower.  Hubby took little guy to school, so I schlepped off to the shower, picked through a few towels (too scratchy, too old, doesn’t smell quiet fresh enough) until I found the ones I wanted.  I tossed the towels over the side of the glass door enclosures, tilted the shower head toward the far wall and turned the hot water on full blast.

(I can’t seem to quench the urge to take extremely hot showers, for someone who has temperature regulation issues; this is probably not a good idea.)

I put my tip toe through the doors, the floor was nice and toasty inside the stall (I hate stepping onto a cold shower floor), and so I slipped in. 

The minute I slipped my hand under the stream of water, I knew.  The water felt like little glass shards smacking the backs of my hand. “Damn it!” This was going to take longer than I had originally thought.  I lowered the temperature just enough to make the painful water flow bearable, then tried to rush through my routine. Shampoo…lather…rinse, Conditioner…lather…rinse…

When I shut the water off I reached quickly for the towel, which must have fallen from where I slung it.  No time to retrieve it, water was running onto my face, and I was getting frazzled. (Some things—like the way I panic when water hits my face, have never changed from when I was a child) I lunged toward the towel hanging on the rack; almost busted my ass trying to reach it with my eyes scrunched tightly shut, and smashed my face into the towel hoping to dry it quickly.

           To my horror, it was wet! This was not the towel I picked out for my shower…it was the one that was on the floor!  This towel must have been tossed on the rack to dry after someone else’s shower….ugh!

By the time my towel fiasco was over, I was sweating, felt a little dizzy, and I could feel my heart thumping in my chest.  I needed to sit down and cool down.  I was completely overheated.  This happens to me all the time, I get overheated way too quickly, feel nauseous and dizzy, need to cool down, and then get too cold too quickly.

Now I’m sitting on the lid of the bowl wrapped in a towel trying to cool down, but I don’t have time for this today.  Being in a rush I had to no time recover from the assault of the shower, before moving onto the brushing my teeth and dressing. I sat for all of two seconds before jumping up and heading over to the sink for teeth-brushing time.  Brush…brush…gag…brush...gag… great!  Although I managed to get through teeth-brushing without losing my breakfast  coffee, I was still dizzy from the heat in the shower and fighting back the nausea from the retching.  This is not an unusual drama when I am having a sensitive day, which is more often than I would like lately. 

I quickly towel dried my hair, ran a brush through it, and slapped it up in a ponytail.  I slathered moisturizer across my face, washed my hands, and furiously wiped them on the towel.  I hate the way lotion feels on my hands. 

I was reaching for a pair of denim shorts I’d tossed on top of the vanity a few days earlier, when I remembered what hubby said before he left. “I picked out an outfit for you; it’s hanging in the bathroom.”  I growled, but he knew that I would grab a pair of grubby shorts and whatever tank top was at the top of the pile in my drawer with a matching pair of flip flops and head out the door.

I turned and smiled a little bit when I saw the hanger holding a pair of blue jeans, and a simple black shirt. This I can do.

I had myself mostly ready when hubby returned with my mother in toe to watch the kids; my black flip flops in hand.

“We are going to an appointment, so you have to get a little dressed up,” he said. “I took out your little black shoes, the ones with the small heel.”

“Come on, really?” (Sigh) “Fine.”

When I was sitting in the waiting room awaiting our appointment, nervously talking too much and too loud, and squishing my foam earplugs into different shapes,  I looked down at my dressed up feet hanging out of the bottom of my blue jeans and thought, that’s pretty funny, these are my feet all dressed up.

But the problem was now that my feet looked dressed up my unpolished toenails were out of place. I told hubby that I was going to write a blog post about my ridiculousness and let him take a picture of my dressed up feet, but first I would have to polish my toes!

It has been a while since I’d bothered to pick up a nail polish bottle. “Six months,” hubby says.  I corrected him; it has only been five months. I know this because I bought the orange polish, put it on one time, the night before we left for vacation in May, and then tossed it back into my make-up bag never to be used since.

As for how the actual meeting went—there is too much ridiculousness to write about it in this post, but I promise more on that is coming.

I got home from the wasted day after my hubby treating me to a wonderful soup and salad lunch at Olive Garden, (they have the BEST Gnocchi soup!) I headed to the living room after typing this blog and the following conversation with Aspie son took place. What a way to end the day!!!!

Aspie Teen: Mom why are you putting your shoes on?

Me: Because I’m taking a picture of my dressed up feet for my blog.

Aspie Teen: You better make sure only your feet get in the picture Mom.

Mom: Why???

Aspie Teen: Because Mom, your hair is a mess and it looks like Mrs. Frankenstein!!!!

I’m going to kill me an Aspie Teen!