To Hug, or Not to Hug?

Yesterday I made a split-second decision that could have tarnished my image and hurt my reputation. I let Lola hug me.
It was dinnertime, and I was feeding Lola pasta with meat sauce. She was also "feeding" herself, as well as the high chair, the floor, and occasionally, the dog, Hugs. Anyway, dinnertime was to be followed by bathtime and bedtime, and then I would be going out for a rare night with the girls, a sendoff for my dear friend Ana-Lisa (who has just arrived in Atlanta and is probably already breaking hearts!!!). Anyway, I wanted to look cute for dinner with the girls, so I had washed my hair that morning, during Lola's nap. But since then, Lola had consumed her first peanut butter and jelly sandwich and organic cherry oatmeal cookies. And now it was dinnertime.
There was my beautiful baby, her hands and chubby little face covered in red sauce, reaching out for a hug. (Hugging over the high chair tray has been a recent, and especially adorable, habit of hers.) Her grubby little hands and tomato-red smile were completely irresistable to me, and I immediately caved in. Saucy hands patted the top of my freshly washed head, and I loved every minute of it. Later, surveying myself in the mirror as I picked tomato sauce out of my hair (there was no time for another shower), I spotted, hanging a couple of inches below my left ear, a rather unusual accessory: a small piece of peanut butter and jelly sandwich hung from my hair, and had apparently been there since lunchtime, undetected.
This is my life. In order to make myself presentable to go out to dinner with my girlfriends, I have to peel off grubby clothes and pick food particles out of my hair. Amazingly, at dinner less than an hour later, I realized I'd never felt more glamourous. : )