Pretty Girl (Part 2)
It seems like it has been forever since we talked. Well, we did talk last week, but I was heading to Palm Beach and in that girly tizzy that is buying a new wardrobe pre-weekend getaway in an effort to "fit in" with the fashion of another geographic location. And we all know no girl can communicate a clear thought under such self-inflicted duress, so that doesn't count. Anyhoo, back to me.

Right. So you left me sitting in my car with my new baby doll, Pretty Girl, in the front seat and Jeb (current love of life) leaning in (looking perfectly boy-ishly athletic in sweaty running clothes) to see exactly how bizarre I could be. Nodding to Pretty Girl he warily asks, "Who's that?" "Er. this is Pretty Girl. She's my new doll?" I replied - more as a question than a statement as I couldn't believe I could be so weird. Hesitating for a moment, he half-asked/half-snickered, "Why do you have a doll?" Blankly staring and not breathing I managed, "Because I don't have a baby?" "Do you need a baby?" he asked. "Yes." I said frighteningly matter-of-factly. Inner-self aggressively elbowing outer self. "You sound like you're fast-tracking him to marriage and children. Abort conversation." "I mean, no! No! Absolutely not!" I quickly countered (myself) with a look of "as if?!" Inner self once again elbowing outer self, "Now you sound like a bad candidate for marriage and momhood. Retreat to safe ground." Good point, self.

"I mean, yes, sometimes I do need a baby," I said as calmly as possible. Awkward silence. "It helps me fit in." Inner self then gives up on outer self, "You are not fit for human conversation." Taking another moment to oogle at his yumminess, I slipped back into my daydream of our wedding day in the fall. But only for a moment, as I had to deal with the crisis at hand. I wondered whether it'd be wise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Truth: All my friends have babies. Truth: I have concocted a theory as to why a one-year-old cries in my presence. Truth: I spent $49.95 on a doll in an effort to impress said one-year-old. Truth: I've planned our whole wedding. The ushers will wear wool blackwatch tartan pants. Truth: It may set you free. but I pretty much want to be caught. As such, I had no choice but to look up and give my best Katie Couric, who can good-girl her way back to popularity even after the most difficult of interviews.

So, I smiled wholesomely, laughed like the All-American girl next door, and did my very best 'aw shucks, what a hoot'/let's blow this whole thing off. And it seems that the extra hour of Today has paid off, because he gave me a really big smile and said he'd see me later. I said ok and he said, "Come over to my house after the birthday party and I'll cook you and Pretty Girl a big dinner." Well, kiss my cheek and call my date queen. Score one for the cuckoo girls.

Of course, at that point I had to call my friend to say that I couldn't make the birthday party. That I had to go home and primp for dinner with the boy. She, of course, understood - as do all good girlfriends. And so began the boot camp that is preparing for a little date that shouldn't be that big of a deal and for which you're not even supposed to change clothes. You know the drill:

1) Wash hair. Put in deep conditioner. Exfoliate all icky, wintery dead skin from elbows.
2) Draw bath with good smelling bubbles. Shave armpits, legs, toes (you never know). Soak until water gets cold. Talk on phone to girlfriends and strategize evening.
3) Rinse out deep conditioner.
4) Apply yummy smelling lotion while skin still damp-ish, wrap in robe.
5) Put in inspirational girl music. Pour self glass of wine.
6) Partially dry hair then roll in Velcro rollers so it dries smoothly, straightly, but with some body like movie stars.
7) Go to bed. Paint toenails. Paint fingernails. Sit perfectly still for 3 minutes. Create excuse for having to go home and change. Easy - real baby threw up on me. Thank goodness Pretty Girl has better manners.
8) Try on 3 different pairs of jeans that look the same but have decidedly different fanny fashion. Do deep squat stretches in winning pair - budget-busting Habituals. Try on 3 different turtlenecks, 3 different sassy Ts, and 4 different sweaters without messing up nails or pulling rollers out of hair. (Difficult but doable after years of practice.) Decide on cashmere sweater with little blazer.
9) Debate shoes. Talk to self. Decide on girly flats.
10) Pull out rollers. Run fingers through hair. Brush teeth. Gargle. Apply lip liner and gloss. Apply perfume.

And off I went. Was so fun. He even put Pretty Girl at a chair at the table. Of course, I know this was more to make fun of me - but it really only fed my fantasy. It was like we were a real yuppy family. And while many would say that this is not healthy independent-woman-of-the-world behavior, I'm saying, 'Stuff it." I like my daydreams. I like having a doll in my car for the fun of taking her to parties. And I like all the silly things that girls do.

Oh to be a girl. What fun.