Sandy Supposes....

Priorities?

PROMPT: If we didn't have priorities, we'd have........

         I can hear the opening notes of the dark, somber 'danger' music..you know the-something-big-is-about-to-happen-music....the rising crescendo.."dun-dun-dun"...

If there were no priorities, responsibilities, or accountability mothers could indulge in late nights watching television programs and movies of their choosing. They would binge on only the best snacks in the house; fresh and plentiful. In the morning, they'd sleep in and lounge in bed. Their time would be their own without interruption. They might revel in the luxury of a long soak in the bathtub. Silence would truly be golden, welcome, and soothing.

         In the real world, mothers are slaves to priorities. The well-being of their offspring demands it, as do the children themselves. Mothers often sacrifice their desires for the needs of the kids. Prioritizing is fuelled by action, or in the case of a former neighbour, reaction.

         While residing in London, England Mrs. Rerrie received an unnerving phone call. Getting her children off to school had been its usual noisy routine, so she was recuperating with a fresh cup of tea. Hearing that there'd been an accident at the school, and that her son required medical treatment pushed her into a reaction.

         Galvanized with worry and the urgent need to comfort her son, Mrs. Rerrie shrugged into the first bits of clothing she could find; she was not concerned with dressing to impress. Her poor boy must be in pain. He needed his Mama. She had to get to him.

         Stumbling out the door, she ran to the bus stop. Mrs. Rerrie had never learned to drive nor did she own an automobile. Fidgeting and fretting on a street corner, she missed her umbrella. Already committed to her rescue mission, she could not retrace her steps now. A little rain was the least of her worries .Thank God for small mercies, she'd remembered to grab her handbag.

         The bus ride seemed so long and so slow. Why didn't the driver speed up? Come on, come on, hurry! Groaning, Mrs. Rerrie resented each and every stop. Really? Did he have to pick up more people? Was her baby crying for her?

         Mrs. Rerrie raked her shaking hands through her hair; too late, she hadn't brushed. I must look a fright. Glancing down, she gasped. Where were her nylons? She hadn't lost her mind completely; her shoes matched.

         In the distance, the school's gates beckoned. Pulling herself to her feet, and reaching for the stop wire, Mrs. Rerrie felt an odd sensation. She felt strangely loose, unrestricted, light. She swayed, but it wasn't because she felt light-headed. There was an unmistakeable draft, a breeze.

         The bus lurched to a screeching stop, and as the door hissed open the Mom-on-a-mission glanced at her fellow passengers. Were they staring at her? Had they noticed? Mrs. Rerrie hurried down the steps. As she climbed onto the curb, the backdraft from the departing bus tugged and lifted her skirt.

          Mortified and blushing, Mrs. Rerrie slapped the misbehaving material back around her bare legs. There was that breeze again, a breeze nudging her nether region. In her haste to get 'dressed and decent' she'd neglected to don the most important piece of wardrobe for a modest mother---- her knickers.

         One priority had superceded another. She laughed as she shared this cautionary tale with me years later, in Canada. I'd explained that my mother had taught me to always wear clean panties 'just in case I was ever in an accident'. In responding under duress to an accident, Mrs. Rerrie suffered an accident of omission. Sometimes, underwear is not a priority.