The Pampered Chef Lady Caught Me in My Jammies

I stood in my kitchen with the kids' schoolbooks in one hand, and a potholder in the other. The door bell rang and I froze.
I'm not dressed, what time is it?
The clock showed 9:00.
Is 9:00 a shameful time to still be in your jammies? I'm not answering the door for ANYBODY because nobody needs to know I'm still in my jammies.
A glance out the window showed the Pampered Chef logo on the van parked out front.
And in a split-second decision I resigned myself to the fact that indeed, my slothfulness was going to be made public.
She was bringing by a replacement vegetable peeler, what a NICE Pampered Chef Lady. She knew I had wanted it right away since mine was lost and it was my favorite kitchen tool ever.
I tried to act confident and carefree, as I stood there conducting business in the most faded, baggy, worn pajamas I owned. I thanked her for her thoughtfulness much like June Cleaver in pearls would have.
Three days later she had a reason to come again, to exchange the vegetable peeler. I felt like it was the movie Ground Hog Day: same knock on the door, same frozen posture, same glance at the clock, and yes, same jammies. Only this time there was one thing different.
The nice Pampered Chef Lady had graciously given me more time to get my act together.
She had come at 11:00.
I lost all hope and pretense of dignity as I answered the door this time. I didn't even try to appear unembarrassed. She'd seen it all anyway.
I said "WOW, this was so nice for you to do this for me, you are the BEST Pampered Chef Lady! I'm so sorry you caught me in my jammies again!" But what I really wanted to say was: "I'm productive! I practice good hygiene! I have a happy, fulfilled life, just not one that requires getting dressed first thing in the morning. But I promise I think it's a really good idea!"

There's just no recovering from that. You can go shower, curl your hair, and put on all your make-up, but as moms we know that NO ONE is going to ring our door bell then.

The doorbell will be silent when we've primped and powdered and curled.
It's the axiom of our existence.
I think it needs a t-shirt.