To the Point of Irrelevance

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My new headwear of choice

I loved this post because it was so honest…yes, I really am this lame…

So, it happened.  I was casually bribing my daughter’s cooperation with animal crackers while in line at the Target Starbucks when I saw him.  Him being the teenage hottie who was taking my order for a Skinny Vanilla Latte (aka a dieter’s winter nectar of the gods).  This kid was so freakin’ beautiful that instantaneous blushing and nervous giggling commenced.  Praise God my daughter is only 17 mo. old, so no awkward explanations of why Mommy was acting like a giddy schoolgirl were necessary.  With eyes only for the animal crackers, she had no idea what was going on.

Goodness knows what I actually ordered as I busily fumbled for my change (read: panicked digging through my monstrous wallet packed to the gills with coupons in search of my Visa debit card, as I haven’t been pulled together enough in years to actually remember to get cash out).  As I shyly paid Gorgeous and mentally fussed over saying the right thing, I had a blinding flash of reality: He had no idea I even existed.  I was just a number, a customer, a mom.  If my ancient age wasn’t enough, carting around my infant/toddler daughter deal officially booted me into No Man’s Land.  I have become irrelevant.

Now, let’s be reasonable, people.  I’m a happily married woman and not actually looking to land the teeny-bopper at the coffee shop.  (I’m pretty sure that just using the term “teeny-bopper” makes me at least 105.)  But it wouldn’t be so bad to be “noticed” once in a while by a cutie.  Not happening any more, though.  I’ve officially crossed the line into oblivion.

This is clearly a good news/bad news situation.

Good news: doesn’t matter if I rock 3-day-old sweats and put a paper bag on my head.  No one will take note anyway.  Tossing unecessary make-up bag to the wind.

Bad news for my husband: Since no one else on earth will ever glance my way, by default, he’s stuck with me.  Sorry, babe.  Looks like we’re in this for the long haul.

Irrelevant?  Sure.  But I’m going to call it aging gracefully and chug my latte in the solitary peace of knowing no one else is checking out what I’m doing.  Sounds pretty darn perfect to me at this point.

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Meredith

Meredith blogs at The Mom of the Year, where she dedicatedly earns her title one epic parenting fail at a time, offering quick, relatable laughs for fellow parents and all their empathizers. She has been part of several best-selling anthologies, featured on prominent sites such as Huffington Post, In the Powder Room and BlogHer, and loves her role as the Executive VP/Operations Manager of The BlogU Conference. When she's not breaking up fights over Legos and juice boxes, she remains fully committed to sharing a less serious look at the world of parenting.

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