Today I saved my daughter’s preschool.
She’s so proud of me. And in the process, I role modeled toughness, resilience, and pull-your-bootstraps-uppitude. Plus: I did it all Charlie’s Angels style.
So what happened is some kid who I feel sorry for (she wears flip flops in the rain and her mom doesn’t strap her in a car seat) was fooling around and locked the door to the preschool, leaving the teachers and me outside on the playground.
All the teachers refused to hop the fence to get to the front door to unlock the back door, because apparently one of them had done this before and now she can’t have kids. So I’m feeling like I, the oldest, most decrepit female among them, must save the day.
I cautiously made my way to the locked gate and looked for a foothold. There were none, so I half-jumped, half-catapulted myself to the top of the gate and screwed myself by not having an exit plan. I’m on top of the gate, yes, but in such a way that one small movement could maim me forever. At this time, I grow aware of the fact that my low-rise jeans have slid down my hips, exposing this flesh-colored enormous underwear I pulled from the bottom of my drawer that morning. Of course, everyone is watching me, despite my pleas to the contrary and also, parents have gathered in the front of the building with their kids, who are staring aghast. I’m thinking “could you open the front door, num-nutseses?” but also “what would Sabrina Duncan do?” and then I had it.
From my 70’s TV memory bin, I extracted a choreographed Charlie’s Angels sequence so lame, so stupid, that only I could do it. The seconds that followed were a blur. But I do know that I executed a complex series of straddles and karate chops, which brought me down to the concrete below in a heap. A proud heap, because from behind the gate, applause rang out and above it all, I heard my daughter exclaim, “My mommy’s a superhero!”
And so it was. With liberty and underwear for all.