Wednesday, October 17, 2007


If you would kindly indulge me on a riff about the wee ones, or rather, their parents...

Don't make me listen to any more stories about your children. Please.

I like to fancy myself one of those liberal minded empowered sort of women, embracing my sisters and their choices with all the love my tar black heart can hold. But honestly, can't we find something else to discuss other than the fruits of their collective wombs?

No, no we can't.

We can't because they don't read, don't follow politics, don't involve themselves in much beyond their immediate brood. Hell, they barely talk to their spouses. I will relay a story recently overheard by Van Mother:

Me and Van Father were having a rare evening out and talking, just talking, when my husband says, 'Why can't we do this more often, just sit and talk with each other? Do you remember when we first got married and would go camping all the time and travel? I miss that. When can we start doing that again?' Van Mother's response was (no shit), 'In about 18 years, Honey. When the kids go off to college it will be just us again.'

Oh, the horror.

The mommies may look at me and think that I'm jealous, barren, or cracked. To which I respond: Nope, If only, and Perhaps.

Adulthood was something I really aspired to with all of its cocktails and autonomy and excessive eye makeup. But what I thought was the last exclusive club, now seems to let any tot or adolescent wander in past the ropes.

I have built my child-free oasis away from the mommy mongering and have filled it with breakables, pointy-edged furniture, leisure time, and Bloody Marys for breakfast.

So please, when you notice my eyes more glazed than a Krispy Kreme, stop talking about Junior's ear infection.

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