I can explain EVERYTHING

They have twelve steps for a reason, folks. The first step is just admitting you have a problem.

Let me explain how that happened. It all began with a playdate...

I was driving in town to meet my friend and her two daughters. On the radio, the announcer mentioned that Lacuna Coil had a gig twenty minutes from my house this very evening. Lacuna Coil! I filed it away for the moment.

We went to the playdate at Chuck E. Cheese, a place I have never ventured with my children. (Our high school friend told the most aweful stories of cleaning barf out of the ball pit and general grossness off the games. I think I was traumatized.)

The kids had a blast, and I got to hold the cutest, snuggliest three-week-old to ever exist. No, I don't want another one.

Twenty bucks, one pizza and two hours of minimal parental supervision later, the kids were satisfied.

Pictures. Alison on a horse.

Kristin in some kind of pod.

Emma on a phone, probably calling the Better Haircut Hotline.

"They wanna talk to you."

Emma and a ticket. Alison getting pissed at a bumblebee game. The usual.

Anyway... back to Lacuna Coil.

I called my sister first to beg her to come with me. She said 3 hours was not enough time because suddenly we have become 90 years old and have no spontaneity.

I called my neighbor. Busy.

Next, I texted Mike his invitation from a shoe store. Yes, you were number three. But you'll always be number one in my book (or until you really piss me off).

For the record, I was at the store looking for casual workout tennies, since my last pair are now mow-the-lawn shoes. So, there!

While I waited for a response from Mike, I juggled three exhausted children - one crying - while holding a frustrating discussion with the sales clerk.

No, I said I wanted cute. Like skater shoes, but a little more practical. I don't want Shox. Did I say I wanted to go moonwalking? Gel Asics are just as ugly. I don't want to hear about your fancy insoles. The only running I'll be doing is chasing these kids. Ska-ter shoes. Here, like these. Don't give me that look. So I wanna be cute while I work out!

When Mike finally called back and relieved me from the clerk's stubbornness, he broke the news that he wasn't getting out of work in time for the concert. He told me to go without him.

Me: But I have no one to go with!

Mike: So...?

Me: So... go by myself? Are you okay with that?

Mike: Yeah, why not? You're an adult. Just be careful.

Me: AWESOME! Thank you! I thought for sure you'd be ticked if I went by myself.

Mike: While you're buying shoes, you wanna throw in some Stan Smiths? 10-1/2? White? (kidding)

I hung up and summoned the clerk back: These shoes? Right here? These in my hand? 9-1/2. I don't need to try them on. Oh yeah, and I need some Stan Smiths. White. 10-1/2.

I got Mike the awesome shoes as a little thank you for being so awesome (and being okay with sending his awesome wife to a scary-ass town for an awesome concert).

And then my sitter fell through because that's how spontaneously awesome my life is.

Next best thing, I took the girls to the gym and worked out my frustrations. Every time I pushed the pedals around, I scowled a little at those pretty white and pink tennies... but damn did I look cute.

When he finally sauntered home, Mike was excited and surprised to see his new shoes.

Just the sight of Mike in his black boxers, black socks and sparkling white tennies, checking his reflection, made the whole fiasco worthwhile.