Chapter Thirty One; I am the Boss of Me

“Did you go to school naked today?”

“No!!”

“Oh come on, I think you did. Are you absolutely sure?”

An emphatic “Yes!” is paired with a big toothless grin as my daughter collapses onto her bed in a fit of giggles.

I am not sure God checked my credentials when he made me a mother. Because I am kind of a fruit loop, considering the above dialogue is an example of one of my better creative parenting moments.

This nightly exchange is our routine when going through her day’s accomplishments using a magnetic sticker chart (the greatest invention ever known to Mommy). When she successfully convinces me that no, she did not go to school in the buff or commando only then does she earn the coveted magnet. (The latter has actually been known to happen. Leave it me to have a daughter who is anti-panties before she’s even learned to read.)

But the other day, all this parental bribery got me thinking:

I wish they made magnetic sticker charts for grown ups!

And I am not talking about the good old to do list or that stupid tasks functionality in Outlook that only anal retentive people actually use. (And yes, if you actually utilize that, you are sick and strange and need serious therapy.)

But the problem is, if I did have a chart, who would keep track? After all, I am an adult. I am the boss of me. Am I supposed to do this myself? Well, holy crap, that won’t work. I’ll just cheat. Plus, who compiles the list? I suppose I have to do that too.

Well then, if I have to do it myself and I am just going to cheat anyway, I might as well make it fun. Forget boring things like balancing the checkbook (good thing negative numbers are infinite) and doing the laundry (Why did they event invent Fabreeze if I am not supposed to use it?).

Because instead of magnets I have a much more appropriately adult idea. I will provide myself with a far more seductive incentive for each properly executed event . . .

Audra’s Martini Chart

Go shopping and actually buy the $100 cutest jeans in the whole world that the sales girl flops into my dressing room that make my ass look better than most 18-year-old’s.

Check. One martini.

Even though I had a pedicure three days ago go ahead and get another just for the hell of it.

Check. Two martini.

Invite the Divorce Land girls over to watch a chick flick, drink three bottles of wine between us, dig out my old high school year book and love them anyway when they see my senior picture and start singing, “Super Freak.”

Check. Three martini.

Oh damn. I shouldn’t mix alcohol. Oh well.

Unfortunately, by this time, I am so drunk, broke, and behind on laundry that unless I want to go commando today I am going to have to Fabreeze my underwear.

But hey, there is one last Audra accomplishment that deserves celebratory recognition:

I got dressed all by my big girl self this morning and did not go to work naked.

Check. Whoo hoo! Yay me!

Martini, anyone?