Confessions of a Domestic Failure

Back in the room, Kimmie was spinning around like a Tasmanian devil.

“I can’t believe we partied last night! The night before we were supposed to go on live TV in front of millions of people!” she said frantically, throwing cosmetics and outfits in every direction.

“Relax, Kimmie,” I said, removing last night’s eye makeup with a baby wipe. “Just jump in the shower and get dressed.”

Kimmie turned to face me. “I don’t just ‘jump in the shower and get dressed.’ I had my routine all planned out and I’m about six hours behind on it.”

She walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

I’d planned to shower, but what was another day without one? Anyway, I was pretty sure I’d been in the hot tub at some point, which was as good as a shower.

My stomach fluttered. Tonight I’d see Aubrey and David. Hopefully he’d settled down a bit and wasn’t still so angry with me.

I looked in the vanity mirror. The area under my eyes was streaked with dark makeup, my complexion was blotchy and my hair was a knotted mess, but I couldn’t help but smile. I’d had fun. For the first time in a very long time, I’d had carefree fun. I hadn’t even drunk that much, just gotten carried away with a group of women who were all having their first fun night in ages. I laughed as the night came back to me. I’m pretty sure Lorenzo brought out organic lychee Jell-O shots at one point, and Emily did a cannonball in the pool.

I wiped the rest of my makeup from my face and brushed out my hair.

Time to change. Thankfully, I’d already planned my outfit. I stood up and pulled a hanger out of the closet. The producers of The Emily Walker Show had emailed guidelines for what not to wear, which included blue (in case they used a blue screen), complicated patterns and wild colors. They hadn’t said no to yoga pants and XXL T-shirts, but I assumed they were also discouraged.

I quickly changed into a slimming heather-gray skirt suit. I had plenty of these from my office days, but none of those fit, so I’d had to buy one the day before we took off. I knew we didn’t have the money for new clothes but I considered it the last little splurge before we tightened up, and how often would I be on national TV? This moment would be frozen in history; I wanted to at least look pulled together.

I could still hear the shower running when I left the room. Kimmie was probably in there pumping her face full of a chemical cocktail.

*

The set was larger than life.

Large cameras and microphones on robotic arms, wires everywhere, men and women wearing all black hustling to and fro and staring at large monitors. How they’d managed to turn the room where we’d had brunch just two days prior into a real live set, I’d never know.

I tried to take it all in. At the front of the room were three large couches and Emily Walker’s signature pink armchair. I presumed that was where we’d be sitting. My stomach flipped. I was going to be on live television. What if I threw up?

“Are you looking for makeup?” a college-aged man in thick horn-rimmed glasses asked me.

“Yes,” I said, trying not to appear as flustered as I was.

“Right this way,” he said, leading me through a tangle of thick black cords. As we made our way through the equipment jungle, I realized that today was the day. The winner of the Motherhood Better Bootcamp was going to be announced.

Before I knew it, we were in a corner of the room with several tall stools and women being painted by a crew of artists.

“Take a seat,” a man with hair down to his lower back said to me, and I did.

I shifted. “I’m hoping for a natural look, I don’t wear a lot of...”

He lifted his finger to his lips. “Shh. Fabio will take care of you.”

I closed my eyes. I could feel him pressing a foam applicator to my face, then an eye pencil, lip liner, some type of tickly brush. I flinched as he tweezed my brows. After ten minutes I heard his voice.

“All done.”

I opened my eyes, and saw him holding a round hand mirror to my face.

I took it and, with feelings of trepidation running through my veins, looked in.

I didn’t recognize myself. I looked like me, but richer. Better. Beautiful. He’d used the contouring method I’d seen on several online videos and had tried once to emulate, which resulted in tiger stripes up and down my face.

I marveled at my reflection.

“Good, right?” Fabio said, grinning.

“Not good. Amazing. Thank you!”

“Ten minutes until we’re live!” yelled a stagehand.

Out of nowhere, Kimmie ran into me. She was fully dressed in a stunning navy blue minidress and sky-high white heels. Her hair and makeup made her look like a Miss America contestant.

“Kimmie! When did you get your makeup done?” I didn’t recall seeing her being made up.

She flipped her layered, bouncy hair. “I had my own makeup and hair team scheduled to meet me in the room. We barely had enough time.”

Emily Walker appeared in the center of the room. She looked flawless in a pink blazer, white skirt and pink heels. A hush fell over everyone.

“Hello, everyone! I know we had a...special night, but I’m so proud of all of you for making it here on time! This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. In a few minutes, we’ll be live on television to crown the Motherhood Better Bootcamp champion!”

Everyone cheered.

“And then we’ll have breakfast.”

A wave of nausea ran over me. I heard a woman say, “No, thanks.”

I grabbed a bottle of water from a nearby basket.

“Five minutes until we’re live!”

A man popped up next to me. “Ashley? Let’s get you miked up,” he said, affixing a microphone to the top collar of my blouse.

Kimmie grabbed my hand. “Are you ready?”

“Are you nervous, Kimmie?” I asked, teasing.

She took her hand back. “Absolutely not,” she said, smiling sheepishly.

As a group, the women and I made our way up to the stage. Assistants directed us to specific seats. I was just one contestant away from Emily.

Emily sat down in her armchair with a handful of notes.

“Okay, everybody. We didn’t have time for a rehearsal, so just act natural, answer the questions and don’t be nervous.”

Easy for her to say. She’d done this before!

I squirmed under the bright lights. This was the moment the last six weeks had been leading up to. I was a little sad it was all coming to an end, but excited, too. I knew my journey hadn’t been as perfect as the others’, but I still had a shot, right?

“Thirty seconds until we’re live!” a woman shouted and I felt my stomach flip-flop again. “Don’t throw up,” I willed my body.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four...” A man next to the largest camera motioned to Emily.

I felt a hot flash run through my body. This was happening.

Emily beamed her million-dollar smile at the camera. “Good morning, and welcome to The Emily Walker Show!”

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