Walk of shame

Remember that, girlfriends? I can't have been the only one riding the subway in the wee hours of the morning wearing Saturday night's musky frock, limping in the heels that looked so cute in the store, hose long since discarded...waaay hungover, perhaps a bit drunk? I mean what 20-something hasn't?

It occurred to me tonight that the Worst Mama equivalent of Walk of Shame is into a busy hotel, perhaps one with a convention or a night club so the lobby is quite crowded. You and your husband each have a sleeping kid slung over a shoulder. Your 2-year-old woke up just in time to start screaming hysterically, in a hoarse, tired voice so everyone is staring. It is 11 PM. People are shaking their heads at us. Tsk tsking under their breaths.

During the ride to our hotel room, Alec began chatting with another couple each clad in Braves shirts.

"Our kids are asleep. They are only 3 and 6, and wouldn't have made it through the game."

I held my head as high as I could, mostly to stay upwind of the screaming.