I want to be the June Cleaver of sitcom fame. But I’m not. I’m more a child-laden version of Mary Richards from the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Imagine me, in the middle of a snowy Minnesota roadway, tossing my infamous beret into the air and trying to catch it victoriously while also reigning in two impish little creatures who think it’s just fun to dart into the street between racing taxi cabs.
My mom, on the other hand awoke startled, bolting upright like an overdone pop-tart shooting out of a burning toaster. She’d accost you with a hysterical “What’s wrong?” or a frantic “Who died?” It was just...stressful to wake my mom.
I mean, what prompts someone to begin chowing down on her sofa? I’ll admit I often find myself too tired to meander over to the fridge during Jimmy Kimmel Live. But I’ve never even contemplated digging into the couch for sustenance...
When I was growing up, children were supposed to be “seen and not heard.” We did what we were told. We went where our parents decided to go. We ate whatever our mom’s made for dinner. And if we didn’t like it, we were “given something to really cry about.”
Cut to: a generation later and the whole model has been turned upside down...
I am Debra's husband. In honor of Mother’s day, I am giving Debra the day off by writing her column. Regular readers of this blog may wonder how much of the outrageousness she writes about is true. Well, living with her is a little like living in a sitcom with Laura Petrie.
We live in this neatly polished Scottsdale community. What bothers me most about it, is the neatness and the polish. It’s just not who we are. But you’ve heard all the reasons why we make the compromises we make; “it’s a beautiful, safe, gated community where the kids can ride their bikes and play across the street at the neighbors.” Only problem is that our kids don’t ride bicycles and in the decade we’ve been here, we haven’t met a single neighbor -- until now.
i can’t even return things i buy that i ultimately decide i don’t want. I’m not kidding.I never take anything back. I throw out moldy Trader Joe’s produce. I donate defective electronic equipment with tags still in tact. I wont even return clothes that don’t fit me.
"I’m a post-modern feminist,” I quipped. “I believe that chivalry and feminism can peacefully co-exist. Besides, I’ve never advocated that women should have equal rights. Rather, it’s always been my belief that we are entitled to special rights."
What’s up with charities this year? Has anyone noticed that everyone who’s asking for handouts this yuletide season has conditions? “Please drop off any unwrapped, newly purchased, non-age specific, genderless toys by December 15th.” Ok, seriously?
If it was on the ground, it went into the heap. It was as simple as that. There was no selection process. If it didn’t belong on the floor, she took it. Then, she carted all the items out of the house and dumped them smack dab in the middle of the street.