The High Price Of Moving

A friend from down the street texted me this evening inviting me to go on a quick trip to Ross with her. She was looking for storage bins for a new cabinet that she bought, and myself needing no excuse to go to a store full of pretty things quickly agreed.

The only catch?

I had five minutes to get ready; and so my spiral into shame began unbeknownst to me.

At first I thought “hey no problem I’m already dressed, my hair looks decent- I won’t scare any small children so hey we’re good to go. I’ll just let the kids know I’ll be back within an hour (hooray for having two teenagers – in house babysitting) and just grab my purse. Simple.”

And they laughed and they laughed and they laughed some more.

All of a sudden my youngest needed help logging into my computer. And I couldn’t find my sweatshirt. And …well you get the gist.

With only a moment to spare, I whip the closet door open and quickly grab a pair of flats, slam the door and slip on my shoes while giving last minute instructions.

I get outside just as she pulls up, hop in and we make our merry way across town to a shopping plaza.

All goes well. She finds what she needs. I find what I want but don’t need. I just had to get this adorable navy blue and white basket. It’s perfect for the upstairs bathroom and it was only $5!

After paying for our purchases we head home.

That’s when the Shame Spiral really begins.

I get inside. Slip off my shoes and then , and only then do I look down. And die a million deaths. My pride is gone. My ruination complete.

My dear friends; I wore mismatched shoes on my feet.

This is the price of moving.

My pride.

The house is a jumble of misplaced items exiled from newly painted rooms. My shoe basket is shoved into a dark hallway closet and I am in a constant mind fog of to-do lists.

Let this be a public service announcement: check your feet before going out on the street. Especially when your life is currently turned upside down.

You’re welcome.

This is Summer Dulinsky and I approve this message.

I want to hear from you! Share your shame spiral stories here. You’re among friends!

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3 Comments

  1. Lmbo ..here’s my story, I got up early, quickly threw on a pair of shorts a and t shirt slipped on my flip flops , got my cappucino and I was in yard sale heaven, but I started noticing that at each yard sale I walked up to the people were giving me weird looks, I did the usual checks, do I have a food stain on my shirt or something on my face…what the heck? All good, so I’m like hmm must be them, just nosey people, go to a table of shirts, a lady just looking me up and down like I’m high or nuts, so I look down and my toenails are painted on several different colors, some t paint is up to the the toe knuckle, all over the sides of my toes, looks like a bag of skittles melted on my feet..I had forgotten that I had let my youngest daughter paint my toenails the night before (she was very young at the time and definitely could not paint in the lines lol) but she thought I looked pretty, everyone else else just thought I was special or drunk..lmbo

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