If I'd Only Listened To LeVar Burton All This Could Have Been Avoided

You ever have one of those days?

You know, the kind where it's Friday evening and you're doing your best to dress up for your spouses work Christmas party but you have a two year old grabbing for the iPad that's precariously balanced on the back of the toilet as you're trying to figure out exactly how the pretty people on PinINterest did that updo. And then you remember that you have absolutely no hair styling skills. So, instead you just twist your hair into three buns*, call it good and defeatedly hand the iPad to the two year old.

Then, two outfit changes, a frantic search for black nylons, some crusty mascara and heels you haven't worn since your best friend's wedding later, you wobble out the front door, leaving the children behind with their most favoritest babysitter EVER, and you think to yourself, "I haven't been this dressed up in YEARS!" Which is true. Because the only nylons you could find are circa 1998, your best friend's wedding was three kids ago and your dress? You bought it six months before you got married. In the year 2000. Meaning? You are either embarrassingly out of style, or awesomely vintage.

Then as you giddily rush for the ferry to take you to the BIG CITY, plain latte swish sloshing in your hand, you think, "Oh, man! A whole hour to myself to sit and drink coffee! No kids! No husband! And DUDE! I'M WEARING A PRETTY DRESS!"

But then you start to slow down as you notice the amount of people waiting. In line. Because there's not a ferry in sight.

And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Then, after a whole hour passes and your latte is gone and you've eaten the random packet of cheese crackers you found in the bottom of your purse, you snap a picture of yourself reflected in the window of the terminal. Because you are BORED!

And that's when you realize that you're paying someone $10 an hour so you can sit in a ferry terminal a little over a mile from your house, eat stale crackers from the bottom of a purse and take stupid pictures of yourself. But at least you have your phone, so, you know, you have something to do.

But then! There's the ferry! And people start moving! And you think,"THINGS ARE GETTING BETTER!"

But then, while waiting to get on the ferry, some guy mistakes you, in all your holiday party finery, for a Catholic nun.

For reals.

Of course, once you're actually on the ferry, you have go to the restroom to see what, exactly, it is about your outfit that's giving off nun-like vibes. And while you're there reapplying your nude colored lipstick and repining one of your buns, you rip a huge hole in the knee of your awesomely vintage nylons and think, "Huh. Maybe nylons do have a shelf life...."

So you take a picture.

Why? Because you have nothing else to do. For a really long time.  Because they've replaced the regular ferry with a much slower ferry and instead of taking an hour to cross over to the BIG CITY it takes an hour and a half. During which, you rip another hole in your awesomely vintage nylons.  But you don't take a picture. Because nuns don't take pictures of their derrieres.

Then? Your phone dies. Because you forgot to charge it. And you spend the rest of the ferry ride ducking the curious glances of the guy who thought you were a nun, pretending to look stuff up on your dead phone (to fend off any more awkward nun like questions) and trying to surreptitiously read the book of the lady who's sitting next to you. Until she moves seats. Because, obviously, she hates nuns.

Yeah.

Days like that.

You know what they teach you?

Always bring a book. Because everything LeVar Burton ever said was true.



And maybe buy some new black nylons.



*Because one bun says "librarian" two buns say "Princess Leah" but three buns say "I'm being all fancy and stuff". Obviously.

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