I was picking Jack-Jack up from pre-school last year, having a lovely conversation with the pre-school teacher and another mom. I don’t remember exactly what the sweet pre-school teacher said, but it was something along the lines of…’I’m having a bad hair day’.

 
The next 37 seconds felt like an eternity…

 
I open my mouth and say ‘you’re right, your hair has looked better’.

 
*gasp*

 
Did those words come out of my mouth?!? OMG, I can fix this…say something better Sar “what I meant to say was, when your bangs are longer you can’t see the wrinkles in your forehead and you look years younger.” Wait what? Am I drunk? What’s happening? Make this moment stop. Sarah, stop talking, I beg of you. STOP SAYING WORDS. Think she’ll notice how much emphasis I put on the word ‘years’? Yeah Sar, that’s what she’s noticing. Idiot.

 

This sweet woman, she is backing away slowly. She is a poor, poor victim of this disgusting case of verbal diarrhea that I just can’t stop.

 
Quick Sarah, say something nice.

 
I yell, LOUD (for some reason I’m thinking that if I yell really loud it will make up for the stupid things I am saying)

 
‘YOU’RE PRETTY!’

 
Remember that other mom that is standing next to me? Watching these 37 seconds of horror happen?

 
Yeah, she snorted.

 
I was mortified.

 
This could have gone one of two ways. Well, probably dozens of different ways. They could have avoided eye contact for a couple weeks and then moved forward with the glares and then the name calling behind my back. Reminds me of the days in high school when I had lunch hiding in the bathroom because my shoes weren’t the right brand, or my jeans didn’t have the right tag. Ah, good times.

 
I spent the next 24 hours working up the courage to show up to pick up at pre-school. My throat was tight and my belly was all in knots. I was convinced this was the beginning of the end. Why do I ever talk?

 
I walked up, staring at my shoes the whole way and when I finally look up…these women, they smile at me and scream ‘You’re Pretty’ at me and give me the biggest hug.

 
I love these women.

 
They didn’t judge me; they didn’t try to kick me while they saw me already struggling. They accepted me. They literally embraced me.

 
It’s kinda turned into a thing.

 
We laugh when we tell the story. I think all of our versions are different. One of the sweet ladies swears it wasn’t half as bad as I say it was.

 
I love yelling ‘You’re Pretty!’ across a soccer field, or at Back to School Night. Not only am I proclaiming their beauty for the world to hear, but I am also remembering the acceptance and the love I felt… and gosh darn it, that felt good…I wonder who I can say ‘You’re Pretty’ to today?

 
I think I’ll make a couple postcards today with this little phrase and send them off to a few sweet ladies. Let them know that this idiot thinks they are pretty marvelous.

 
Hey, You’re Pretty!