I swear this cardigan was clean on, I’ve done no more than vaguely waft near a child with it on, but already there appears to be a large 10 cm smear of snot on my shoulder which won’t come off with a baby wipe and I’m late for work. Clearly in this situation you have 2 choices,
1. Be late for work while you change outfit.
2. Go to work anyway, allowing your colleagues to assume that you have some kind of wardrobe slug infestation or never wash your clothes.
Option 1 has a number of other potential downfalls, in the time it takes me to go upstairs and change, the 21 month Incredible Hulk will more than likely either remove all his clothing, coat himself in a confiscated felt tip pen that he has scaled the bookcase to find or appear crying with blood dripping from one or all of his facial orifices. Bringing The Hulk with me has its own pitfalls, as the wardrobe is like a Pandora’s box of toddler joy and he will be compelled to climb inside spearing himself on a pair of old stilettos I haven’t worn since 2010. The 3 and a half year old Diva proves more of a psychological hazard than a physical one, because as soon as she gets wind of my sense of impending urgency to leave the house, her desire to stay put kicks in. Any suggestion that we might be late will only exacerbate this situation. Her conviction that she absolutely must finish the preparations for her imaginary friend Auroras birthday party before putting her shoes on, is in many ways commendable, but in no way conducive to a timely appearance at work.
So generally you resort to option 2, grabbing the pack of baby wipes off the side as you leave and optimistically scrubbing the snot stain at every traffic light on the way in. At one point I was wearing a dressing gown over my work clothes in the morning so I could strip it off once the children were safely installed in their car seats, but The Hulk got wise to that and started snotting on my trouser leg instead. He’s no fool.
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