You (Yes, You) are Interesting

Look. I know you used to be a Pulitzer Prize winner who volunteered with Doctors without Borders. I know you used to raise chickens and paint watercolors. I know you once won a Tony Award for your one woman show about your life, about which the reviews read, “The rest of you can only wish your lives were as interesting as this woman’s is.”

Then you had kids.

Spit up. Poopy. Is this applesauce still good? If I use a disposable diaper am I going to hell? Laundry. Car seats. Toy recalls. What am I going to do with yet more yellow squash? Where’s the cat? Did you take out the trash? Peek-a-boo. Moo Baa La La La. Moo Baa La La La. Moo. Baa. La Fucking La La.

You think you are dull. You aren’t dull. You’re tired. You’re overwhelmed. You want to know what idiot names nursing tanks the “GlamourMom” tank because you once knew glamour and, honey, this shirt covered in corn and butternut squash baby food ain’t it. But you aren’t dull. Dull is that “I am deep, meaningful, write poetry and wear only black” stage of adolescence. Dull are academics who really truly think you want to hear about the mating practices of squid over dinner. Althusser is dull. But you, you’re interesting.

Now, go read Moo Baa La La La. The singing pigs are waiting.

Stumble it!

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