Seventh Level of Hell or How I (Nearly Didn't) Survive A Birthday Party
18/02/08 22:42
She's not yummy. She's crummy.
by Deborah Peraya
To:
vivi@gmail.com
From: HYPERLINK "mailto:babe@daddygone.ca" babe@daddygone.ca
Subject: Seventh Level of Hell
This morning I got to take Ellie to a birthday party. Imagine Satan’s torture area. Add indoor playground equipment. Make sure the decibel level surpasses anything safe for the human ear. You’re getting close.
I tried to join the other moms having coffee but it was a giant game of “mine is bigger than yours” – bigger SUV, bigger TV, bigger jerk of a husband. I ended up doing what I always do when I feel out of my element – eat chips. The other moms avoided them like they were writhing maggots of pestilence, except for the mom who nursed her chip for half an hour. I’m not kidding. One freaking chip. I wanted to “accidentally” elbow her and shove the thing into her mouth, then inadvertently force her jaws to chew. But I was a model of restraint, simply singing “I Will Survive” over and over again in my head. Sing it long enough and it becomes quite soothing. Not as good as the Tylenol /anti-depressant/Gravol, I took for the twitch in my eye later though.
Best outfit went to the mom wearing a denim mini that at first I mistook for a wide hip belt, worn over grey, footless spandex tights and, wait for it, stiletto hightops. Didn’t know those two words could go together did ya? I’ve seen seasoned streetwalkers with better sense. I wanted to offer her twenty bucks to go down the slide.
Taking Ellie for a ride in the shopping cart abandoned in the back lane now. Let it never be said I don’t keep my promises.
(Want to read more "crummy mummy"? Go to It's All Good.)
From: HYPERLINK "mailto:babe@daddygone.ca" babe@daddygone.ca
Subject: Seventh Level of Hell
This morning I got to take Ellie to a birthday party. Imagine Satan’s torture area. Add indoor playground equipment. Make sure the decibel level surpasses anything safe for the human ear. You’re getting close.
I tried to join the other moms having coffee but it was a giant game of “mine is bigger than yours” – bigger SUV, bigger TV, bigger jerk of a husband. I ended up doing what I always do when I feel out of my element – eat chips. The other moms avoided them like they were writhing maggots of pestilence, except for the mom who nursed her chip for half an hour. I’m not kidding. One freaking chip. I wanted to “accidentally” elbow her and shove the thing into her mouth, then inadvertently force her jaws to chew. But I was a model of restraint, simply singing “I Will Survive” over and over again in my head. Sing it long enough and it becomes quite soothing. Not as good as the Tylenol /anti-depressant/Gravol, I took for the twitch in my eye later though.
Best outfit went to the mom wearing a denim mini that at first I mistook for a wide hip belt, worn over grey, footless spandex tights and, wait for it, stiletto hightops. Didn’t know those two words could go together did ya? I’ve seen seasoned streetwalkers with better sense. I wanted to offer her twenty bucks to go down the slide.
Taking Ellie for a ride in the shopping cart abandoned in the back lane now. Let it never be said I don’t keep my promises.
(Want to read more "crummy mummy"? Go to It's All Good.)
