Flashing the FedEx Man
(Page 2 of 2)
March / April 2004
Jamie Pearson Brain, Child
Much in the manner of a nuclear accident or an airliner crash,
this catastrophe occurred because many systems failed sequentially:
I had a newborn baby. All my pants had been vomited on or worse.
The resulting laundry pile was insurmountable. I was wearing my
husband's loose-fitting sweats. My normally independent daughter
was tired and clingy. The baby fussed to be picked up.
RELATED CONTENT
The Kama Sutra is justly famed as the most ancient and greatest of treatises on the art of love--bu...
An ice cream man’s life is not all it seems.......
New Urbanist godfather Leon Krier wins major prize.......
Why feeling lethargic isn't so bad...
By the time the doorbell rang, the dominoes of disaster were
already in motion. I scooped up the baby, opened the door, and
attempted to sign for the package one-handed.
The FedEx guy smiled at my daughter. 'Hi there.'
At once terrified and delighted, she gripped my leg and cowered
behind me. Had I tied the drawstring of my sweatpants? I couldn't
be sure. I casually leaned against the door, applying extra
pressure at my hip for security.
The FedEx man was not so easily dissuaded. He knelt down to
toddler level. 'How do you like the big sister business so
far?'
At this, my daughter held on tight and slid down my leg to sit
on my foot. I was entirely without pants.
It's hard to say who was more aghast. The FedEx guy developed a
sudden, fervent interest in our landscaping while I remarked
favorably, and repeatedly, upon the weather. The nice thing about
humiliation in the company of strangers is that the experience is
transitory. However often I would replay this mortifying scene in
my head, it was over as soon as I signed the clipboard, agreed to
have a good day, and closed the door. Time passed. The Pavlovian
urge to take cover at the sight of a Federal Express truck did
not.
As a young associate on Wall Street, I once returned from the
restroom to my post on a predominantly male trading desk with my
dress tucked into my pantyhose. At my own wedding, I
stage-whispered to my husband that I was not wearing underwear and
was overheard by his 78-year-old grandmother. I thought I was a
person who knew what it was like to be embarrassed. Then I became a
mother.
From the parenting magazine Brain, Child (Fall
2003). Subscriptions: $18/yr. (4 issues) from Box 714, Lexington,
VA 24450;
www.brainchildmag.com
Page:
<< Previous 1 | 2 |