Listen, I don’t have it all together. Not even close. But the thing is. . . people think I do, like really think I do. And, I’m not sure why this is. I am a total disaster. The hottest of messes. Ask my husband.
Here are some reasons why I suspect people are fooled:
1. My house is neat. I didn’t say my house was clean. I said neat. Neat meaning that 75% of the typical four sides in your view are clutter-free. My kitchen counter tops are tidy and wiped clean. However, my desk in the corner of the kitchen? LMAO. Bomb. More like air strike. But, my feeling is, if the majority is clutter-free, the apocalypse in the corner just looks like an ambitious organization project, not a procrastination graveyard.
2. I bring wrapped presents to kid birthday parties. The gift table at a kid’s birthday party circa 2017 is filled with envelopes (gift cards) and colorful bags with wisps of tissue paper sticking out, which was probably assembled in Mom’s trunk three seconds before the party. But kids, especially little ones, want presents to open. They don’t give a fuck what the hell is inside. You can wrap up a doll of Gwyneth Paltrow’s head for all they care. Arriving with a bright package encased in matching ribbon with a bow totally says, “I’ve got my shit together.” Including gift receipt? You’re adult AF.
3. There is always champagne in my fridge to celebrate. Anything. A few hundred years ago, on the 3rd of July during a firework celebration, my husband proposed to me. We were living in a townhouse community on a river and all our neighbors were outside. We didn’t really know anyone well, but word got around that we had just gotten engaged. A woman, Mary, ran into her unit and came out with a bottle of champagne and a giant smile. She popped the cork and said, “I always keep a bottle chilling in the fridge. You never know when you’ll need to celebrate!” That night, a stranger named Mary, was the first to cheers to the future of a young couple who she hardly knew. She made me feel so special. I’ll always remember her as classy and generous, with a bit of a wild side. Just because she had champagne. I want to be just like her.
4. My husband and I have a weekly date night. People find this extraordinarily impressive, and I’m not sure why. Find a sitter. Tell her to come every week. Presto. But nonetheless, people think we have the magical secret to keeping the spice alive in a marriage. Umm? No. My kids just have a mommy who needs to get the hell away from them once a week so she can drink too much, complain about motherhood and then irrationally beg her husband for another baby.
5. When I host a gathering, I host the shit out of it. When I host either a family holiday, kids’ birthday party or my annual summer girls’ night, I leave no stone unturned. Welcoming others into your home—especially when it’s planned—is a no-brainer way to fool them into thinking that you have your shit together 365 days a year. Put out a big spread. Something a little fancy, like shrimp cocktail or anything with goat cheese. Or brie. Fancy people love brie. Something a little healthy, like a veggie platter and a bowl of nuts. Healthy people love nuts. But NOT peanuts. Something that was time consuming to prepare, like 7 layer dip or anything hot that requires a toothpick. Something for the kids, like cocktail hotdogs, or anything that’ll spoil their appetite for dinner. And something a little ghetto, like Doritos dumped in an ugly bowl. Or better yet, potato chips and dip. I guarantee the potato chips would be eaten before the veggies. Because everyone’s a little ghetto, yo.
There you have it. The holy grail of how to fake your way through adulting. Just throw your crap in a corner, wrap a present, buy champagne, go on a date and have a party. Maybe adulthood isn’t so hard?