So the other night I was out with kind of a new friend. We went through the getting to know you part. Then, the question. So, do you work? Even though I have been writing for some time now, I still don’t say, Why, yes, I’m a writer. Because then if I did say that, and she asked me what kind of stuff I write, would I tell her I write about Blobots? Or that I tackle issues like Assholitis? I think I needed a few more dinners with her for that.
Then I thought about it more. Really, I could tell her anything. Do you really fact check your friends? I thought about telling her I invented vaginoplasty. I thought about telling her I was JLo’s stand-in for all her videos, but my butt would give that lie away.
So, I did what every other woman in a stressful situation would do. I asked the waiter for more bread. After the contact high with the carbs. I answered. Well, I’m actually a really good mom to three kids.
Garcon, more vino please. I took a big swig, and I followed up. Let me correct my statement. I am a great fucking mom to three kids.
How do I know? I kind of just do. They are happy, they are nice, they are studious. They are fun. They are well adjusted. I make sure they don’t have unibrows, I make sure they have clean clothes, I make sure they are fed. I make sure they know how to relax, I make sure they don’t smell. I check in with them to make sure they don’t have a problem they can’t deal with. I make sure I am available to them 24/7. I drive them, I get them water, I make them lunch. I make them dinner. They make their breakfast. I tell them they danced great in the recital, I say, We’’ll get them next time, after a game. I support them, I discipline them. I listen to them. I let them go. I watch South Park, I watch Family Guy. I think Zach Efron’s hot. I tell my daughter to consider my closet her closet. I tell my sons that if they get a girl pregnant she can’t borrow my clothes. I quiz them, I type for them when they are tired. I order Chinese food for them even though I’m scared what happens inside our local place. I want to be with them. I fill out forms. I hate forms. I get them haircuts right when their hair poofs out. I hate poofy hair. When they ask me for felt, I actually have felt in the closet.
I am a great fucking mom to three kids.
That is what I do. My true work.
Oh, and I also invented post-its.