Oh Yes, It's Senior Night, and the Feeling's Right

Or, then again, maybe it's not. Right, I mean. The feeling.

As I prepare for Senior Night at the swim meet this afternoon, I feel there are a few things I should be doing:

Contemplating the fact that 3 years of hard work, devotion, and abstinence from carbonated beverages during swim season have culminated in a swimming career of which my son should be proud.

Relishing the anticipation of the revealing of his Favorite High School Swimming Memory.

Wondering if he'll take the comedic or serious route in response to the question: What do you plan to study in college, and why?

Giving myself rousing little pep talks in the hopes that they will keep me from bawling like a baby pig when he brings me my flowers on the pool bulkhead.

Engaging in premature giggle fits over the thought of him clad in a Speedo and necktie. Yes, I'm serious. It's what these boys do on Senior Night. And it's freaking Hysterical.

Instead, and I'm really opening myself up for public humiliation, scorn, and scrutiny by these revelations, here's how I've spent the last moments before Senior Night (bear in mind that there will be photographic evidence of tonight's ceremony. Photographic evidence that will forever immortalize me. Er, um, HIM... HIM HIM HIM. It's HIS night. Not mine. Yeah, tell that to my vanity.)

In the past two hours I have:

Tried on 4 pairs of jeans until finding the ones that minimize my tummy without looking like Mom Jeans or Pajama Jeans.

Googled and READ 4 (ok, maybe 6) articles on "How to Look Thin in Pictures."

Considered Spanx.

Avoided solid foods, especially bread.

Spent more time applying makeup and hair products than I ever did when I went out catting in college.

Honestly asked myself the question, "Kitten heels? Too much?"

Given serious consideration to the height of the photographer and his distance from me during the 4.5 second photo shoot in order to ascertain if I was going to have to use the "Look Away" technique or the "Tongue Pressed Against Roof of Mouth" approach.

After that consideration, I also spent a few moments wishing I'd paid more attention in Calculus so that I could actually compute the exact angle at which I must hold my chin(s) in order to avoid a rehashing of certain passport pictures that shall remain sealed forever.

Avoided even one second of engaging in any of the behaviors I SHOULD have and, thereby, channeled my vanity into a whole new level of narcissistic indulgence.

There. There it all is. Laid out for the world.

And I feel better for having shared. Now, gotta go touch up my lipstick, smooth my hair, suck in my gut, and thank God for waterproof mascara!