Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen from Mars

I was confronted with a rather awkward incident this afternoon.

Let me set the scene.

In an impulsive decision to descend on my house in a freakish cleaning frenzy, I tossed a load of whites into the washer before tackling my acres of hardwood flooring. Because I was wearing some white capris that I wanted washed, I pealed those off and threw them in with the mix. I proceeded to vacuum the floor in my underwear and blue, Redondo Beach hooded sweatshirt.

The 18 month old who was toddling around with his plastic zoo animals kept handing me shoes. For some reason, he's engrossed with me having my flip flops on. To keep him happy and out from under the vacuum head, I took his offering and slid my right foot into a black flip flop. Shortly after that, he carried a bright pink plastic garden clog to me, which I distractedly placed on my left foot. He stood drinking his apple juice and watching me suck up dog hair, satisfied that my outfit was complete.

I didn't hear the knock at the front door.

My neighborhood is of the variety that people borrow stuff and when they return it, they don't hesitate to knock on your door and if you don't answer, just open it to put whatever they are returning on the inside. One might even venture all the way to the kitchen to place said item on the counter. Being that he heard the vacuum and not thinking that I might not be properly dressed, one of my neighbors steps into my entryway and encounters me in this costume. Stunned would best describe the emotion that entered his face.

At this point, explanations might only complicate the situation further so I turned off the vacuum and shimmied my sweatshirt down as far as it would go before I croaked out a pathetic, "Hi". My emotion wasn't quite embarrassment, but rather resigned disappointment at realizing the only shred of cool I may have had, is forever gone.