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Is “mommy brain” the real deal or have I always been such a dodo?

Approximately 7 and a half hours into my work day I noticed this on my sleeve:

Classy.
Classy.

And approximately 13 minutes after that I saw this on my shoulder:

This is my first selfie, by the way.
This is my first selfie, by the way.

What the hell, Shelly? Can’t you even pretend to care anymore? I swear there was a time when I actually brushed my hair and tried to put together outfits. That time ended about 2 years, 4 months, and 5 days ago. (Hmm, what else happened around then?)

Doesn’t matter! Mom or no mom, there is no excuse for not just showing up to your place of employment with minty fresh stains on your shirt, but taking almost 8 hours to notice them.

Let’s take a minute to get all forensic scientist on these splatter marks. Okay the coffee* stain on the sleeve. Sure. Maybe I wiped a bit of spittle off my chin (THANK GOD. Maybe all hope isn’t lost after all) or perhaps my travel mug had a bit of a leak. It happens. But look at where the toothpaste is located. That’s not a dollop of unused toothpaste. That’s a foamy-brushed-mouth-swished-rinsed-and-spit splatter right there. RIGHT THERE.

In case you missed it.
RIGHT HERE!

At first I thought maybe my bra strap was showing, but then I remembered I didn’t own any mint green bras. Then of course I panicked because clearly I was wearing someone else’s bra. I mean, that was way more logical than the fact I came to work with used toothpaste on my shoulder.

My shoulder, people! Im going to assume this is my used toothpaste. Surely I would notice if someone hocked a flouride-filled loogie on my shirt, right? RIGHT?! How does one get their own toothpaste on their shoulder? What sort of trajectory does a mouthful of toothpaste have to take to land there? Did I cough and spit? Did something scare me as my mouth was approaching the sink basin? Did I look at my frothy reflection in the mirror, shrug my shoulders, and say “Eff it. I’m off to work?” How does this happen? Is it possible my co-workers think it was some avant-garde embellishment or perhaps a broach from a beloved ancestor? Yeah. Sure. Just like they thought the pureed peaches on my pant leg were a cool patch or the guacamole on my necklace was an emerald or the spit up on my boots was– nope. Never mind. That was so clearly spit up.

Horrified, I tell you, horrified. It’s over. Just move along. Save yourself. I’m too far gone. And by gone, I mean at Nordstrom because I’m sure if I had nicer clothes I would take better care of them.

*We’re just going to assume that’s coffee

Shelly Mazzanoble

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