Tomorrow I have an audition.

Which is weird, because I’m a writer, not an actor, but I promise it all makes sense. You see, there’s this fabulous show called Listen To Your Mother. It’s produced by Ann Imig in multiple locations across the nation on or around Mother’s Day, and features women reading their essays about motherhood to a live audience.

I first heard about LTYM a couple of years ago, and made a promise to myself that if it ever came to North Carolina, I would submit something.

This year, LTYM is being produced in Raleigh by KeAnne Hoeg and Marty Long. Several talented and brave women will take the stage at Kenan Auditorium on May 8 to read their pieces on motherhood for an audience of 275 people.

I wrote a piece that I love, and submitted it. I’m so excited to have gotten an audition, but y’all? Writers don’t prepare for auditions well.

Obviously I started by printing my piece so I could practice reading it. Our printer helped by refusing to print. Upon fiddling with it (read: pressing a bunch of buttons), I told Mark it appeared to be dead. Which was really strange given that I’d turned it on just five minutes before and it was fine.

I won’t tell you how long it took me to figure out that the damn thing had come unplugged.

Also? Nobody would admit to unplugging it. My guess is that it had something to do with the twin six year olds running around the house.

After printing the piece and practicing, I decided I needed new lipstick and headed to the mall. Which was fine until I also decided I needed new jeans.

Warning: do not, ever, under any circumstances, do anything which requires you to be in front of a three way mirror trying on jeans the day before your LTYM audition.

If you are stupid enough to do so, do not wear a sorority t-shirt with a 1998 date stamped proudly on the front. Because then you must be prepared to resist the urge to clobber the 22 year old sales associates who say, “Wow, we were just talking about whether we could still wear our sorority t-shirts!” and “Wow, you don’t look that old!”

Also, if you happen to be married to a litigator and are practicing your readings on him, think twice about asking him to give you a brief Q&A practice session afterwards. Mark cross-examined the hell out of me.

On the bright side, I feel prepared for pretty much any question that might come my way. Whether remotely relevant or not.

And I now own a pair of jeans that are long enough, not faded or ripped, and make me want to chant “I’m sexy and I know it” as I walk.

Worth the trauma.

Wish me luck.

Or a broken leg.

Or both.