Before I left the house this morning,
I already had a banana glop
stuck to the side of my sweater
from the Babylove's hand
and a drizzle of coffee
from the drooling, half-asleep mama.
I could have changed my sweater,
but I didn't.
Instead, I readied my
"Oh, my goodness!" face.
If confronted with a helpful soul's
insights into the palatte--
that was my sweater--
a look of surprise
would cross my brow
followed by a self-deprecating chuckle.
In truth, I already knew.