Keeping It Real...

I think I've mentioned that I moved to the backwoods (close to Mayberry) this past summer. It's a quaint place that actually does boast the trifecta of restaurants: Applebee's, Chili's, Olive Garden. Date night in a small town! Woo hoo! But seriously, I can handle small towns for the most part. What I really dislike is the fact that I run into students when I need to do shopping of any kind. Now why should this bother me? Well, I often like to just roll out of bed and head out, often in what I wore as pajamas. However, I have found that in such a small area, the probability of me encountering someone that I work with , work for, teach, taught, supervise, etc has grown exponentially. I mean, I can't really hide my beer and condoms under my frozen peas, can I? Case in point: I was at the Walmart last weekend, just minding my own business, when I felt someone following me. Paranoid much, you ask? No. I stopped and took a left into the toilet paper aisle and then caught 3 students (think nutty buddies) from the campus where I used to be the assistant principal indeed following me. I could hear them whispering and giggling as I grabbed my 9-pack double roll Quilted Northern. As if one's teachers and/or principals do not have a need for toilet paper? When I smiled and said hello, the boys looked wary, as if they weren't quite sure if I'd sprout another head. I decided that I should just keep going, and I thought nothing of it until I got home and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was in a scrunchie on top of my head, reminiscent of those classic, kid-friendly Fraggles (the curse of curly hair!). I was devoid of makeup except for the faint smudges from yesterday's mascara. I was nattily attired in a red sweatshirt, my SpongeBob fleece pajama pants, and black Chuck's converse trainers. Frankly, I'm not sure they really recognized me at all and probably thought they were following a bag lady. Either way, I felt a slight flush of embarrassment. This is when I miss living in a real city. No one cares if you go to the market in your pajamas. No one cares if you have make up on, or if you reek of last night's boozapalooza. And the greater square mileage all but guarantees you won't run into the people you work with. But in a small town, people take note of that shit. I actually had a colleague mention to me that they had heard I was wandering Walmart in my pajamas. WTF?? Since when is that news? I mean, it wasn't like I was running around braless or something! Of course, it was a Sunday, and seeing as how I'm not a regular churchgoer, perhaps the shock that I had slept in and forsaken the baby Jesus did not go unnoticed...nor unjudged (yes, I'm making up terms now). So now I'm forced to at least put on some lipgloss, wash my face, and wear street clothing rather than pajamas if I want to dart out to the market. Often I put on a little mascara and tinted moisturizer as well. It's ludicrous, but I've bent to the will of the Mayberry area small minds. Perhaps in a few short weeks, I'll be able to thumb my nose at these rednecks as I prepare for a new employment adventure. One can only hope...and light candles and say 14 Hail Marys and 8 Our Fathers every day until it's a lock. Who knows? One thing I know for sure is that nowhere in the Holy Bible does it say that you cannot wear pajamas or no make up when you shop at Walmart. He who has no sin cast the first stone! And I never shop on Sunday. Never.

**Got an important trip coming up, so start praying bitches!! Momma needs a brand new job!