Rude Bitches Make Me Tired: Slightly Profane and Entirely Logical Answers to Modern Etiquette Dilemmas (9 page)

Yes, working from home has definite advantages. If something reeks around here, it’s me—and I simply send myself a sternly worded e-mail to not let it happen again.

If I continue to mess up, I’ll give myself three warnings and then, finally, fire myself. Afterwards, I will take myself to (where else?) Applebee’s, where I will spend the afternoon sipping sugary daiquiris surrounded by the car salesmen from the dealership across the street who haven’t sold anything since 2009, bless their hearts.

I just wish Antonio could come, but I’m pretty sure they have a no-rodent policy. Pretty sure.

chapter 11

Mom to Mom: It’s Complicated

Face it: It’s easier to find Honey Boo Boo’s kin on the Mensa membership roll than to find a mom-friend who sees things exactly the way you do. Sure, we know plenty of playground moms we can share grapes and Goldfish crackers with, but true friends are harder to come by.

Rather, we are thrown together, yoga-pantsed soldiers on a brightly colored battlefield who bond only on one thing: Our children are the very best kids on earth. Hell, we feel sorry for all the rest. Tra-la-la!

Actually, I was just thinking about my kid when I said that. Yours are just okay. I mean, the whole endless snot thing that
you refuse to acknowledge
is a bit of a deal-breaker for lifelong bonds being forged. Criminy, get some antibiotics, would you?

But every now and then, a true friendship will shine like a jewel in a goat’s ass, and you realize that
this
playground mom is going to be a Forever Friend. You’ll probably even take couple’s vacations together, your daughter might marry her son, oh! The possibilities are endless.

And then she says it one day as you watch the future bridal couple play with the big yellow tic-tac-toe game painted on the side of the twisty slide: “Hey, you know I think Rush Limbaugh has some great ideas!”

And we’re done here. Juicy Juice is packed up, pretzels are resealed in their snack-size ziplock bags, and we really have to wash our hair. You never liked her that much anyway. Oh, and the marriage is
off
!

It’s so hard to find the right mom friend from a pool of women who simply have kids the exact same age. Thank the sweet Lord above, I was lucky enough to find several, and fourteen years later, we still get together at least once a month for dinner, drinks, and catch-up.

But there were so many more where the convo was forced, brittle even, as we discovered that, although our kids were crazy about one another, we just didn’t click.

It took me quite a while to realize that I didn’t have to be BFFs with every other mom. There was no reason to assume that just because we’d given birth within eight months of one another that we had anything else in common.

Be prepared to attend a lot of birthday parties where your kids have a blast playing together while you watch with a big fake smile on your face. The important thing to remember during these forced social situations is that it’s not about the parents; it’s about the kids. Still, it would be ever so much more convenient if you wouldn’t be such an insufferable bitch most of the time.

Question: You know what I hate? When another mom says, “Oh, call me for a playdate with little Madeleine!” That puts the onus on
me
to call
her
. That also tells me she doesn’t really want a playdate but just wants to look like she does, am I right?

Sadly, yes. No one should ever say “call me” about anything, because it’s automatically transferring the obligation to
you,
and that’s bad manners. The truth is, if she really wanted your kids to play together, she’d say: “Bring Tallulah over around four on Wednesday if that’s convenient. If not, what would be a good time?”

That’s a sincere invitation extended sincerely, complete with specifics and, yet, an allowance for the fact that it might not be a convenient time. Nicely done.

Why is it just so hard for moms to make a plan sometimes? I’d rather stay home with the kid watching Mexican soaps than deal with these indecisive weirdos. They may have been corporate bigwigs in their other lives, but now their brains are mush. To wit:

Exhausted yet?

Moms muddy the water a lot by trying to think of everything and accommodate everyone. Nobody wins. Keep it simple: “We’re going to the library for Story Time after lunch and nap time. Join us if you can!”

Done. Ahhhhh.

Question: I’m confused about how to approach a mom friend who allows her children to call me by my first name only. I have taught my kids to always call adults “Mr.” or “Ms.” (last name). What’s your best advice on handling this?

Well, doody. And here I was all set to give you my worst advice. Okay, my best advice isn’t the easiest thing, unfortunately. The easiest thing is to make an inflexible decree and stick to it. For example, as a daughter of the South, I was taught to call people “Mr.” or “Ms.” (first name), which is just a little more personal and friendly but probably a Southern thing. Neither answer is right. You should teach your children to address adults exactly the way that adult in particular wants to be addressed. For example, if the school bus driver likes to be called “Ms. Linda,” well, that’s what your kids should call her. Adults usually make this clear by introducing themselves to a kid by saying, “I’m Mr. Kevin,” or “I’m Mr. Timkin,” or if they’re a little odd, “I’m Mr. Kevin Timkin, but you can call me ‘Dude’.”

That said, I sometimes hate what adults ask kids to call them. My friend’s kids attend a private school where all the students from kindergarten to eighth grade are told to address their teachers by their first names. I think this sounds ridiculous and fairly disrespectful, but I can’t say anything, mostly because the huge stick wedged up my ass has now found its way all the way up to my vocal cords.

I can’t help it; it’s weird hearing a preteen talk to her teacher like he’s her friend who watches
iCarly
with her after school instead of a guy with a Ph.D. in Global Studies from Penn.

Question: I’m fighting with a mom, but our daughters are besties. This makes the drop-offs for playdates very awk. What to do?

Who are you? One of those skanky “Teen Moms” from MTV? For starters, talk like a grown-up. “Besties”? “Awk”? What the hell? Look, the kids didn’t get the memo that just because you’ve had a tiff with this mom, it should destroy their friendship. To put it in terms you can understand: Chillax, h8er. This will totes pass. Obvi.

Question: I have a couple of mom friends who are always bragging about their kids’ accomplishments. My daughter makes straight A’s and has won a decent number of awards in school and for extracurriculars, but it’s not something I talk about, because I know how much I hate it when others brag. On the other hand, I think they think my kid is an underachiever since I never join in the brag-fest, which makes me feel almost disloyal to my kid. What to do?

I know exactly how you feel. While a normal amount of catching up on the kids is great when couples get together, some parents don’t know when it ceases to be interesting news and disintegrates into unpleasant bragging and one-upmanship. Susie won the Science Olympiad. Susie got first chair in the all-state symphony. Susie’s senior project is to build an affordable assisted-living facility for blind children. Christ, I don’t even know her and I’m already sick of this kid.

So you end up swirling your chard a bit too wildly in its glass, dying to say: “Oh, shut
up,
you braggy
cow
! Your kid is about as special as mildew; move on!”

The only thing you can do is change the subject. This isn’t disloyal; it’s self-preservation. Just as the offending parent is revving up to discuss Susie’s athletic prowess (shot put record for the school—seriously?), throw something completely random out there. Say: “You know I read somewhere that people who brag about their kids all the time have very unsatisfying sex lives. Is that true?”

I’m kidding, of course. Although it would definitely be the talk of the Fit ’n’ Forty Zumba class at the Y the next day and, therefore, totally worth it.

When tempted to brag about your kid, remember that Karma ain’t just a dive bar on the Jersey Shore. Play nice. And keep your mouth shut. At least until the inauguration/Nobel acceptance ceremony/space flight. Then, yeah, you can do the superior dance. But only for a minute.

You don’t want to sound like Amy Chua, the now-famous “Tiger Mom.” Ever since I read about Chua, I’ve pictured her oldest daughter scratching rebellious little marks into her bedpost, counting down the days until she can leave for college. You have to feel like a prisoner when your mama won’t even let you take a pee break from five hours of violin practice. In my mommy-fantasy world, I’d love to run into Chua’s daughter one day, hanging out with the scruffy guy wearing pajama pants at the Redbox kiosk. I’d laugh my ass off.

Question: My daughter is invited to a sleepover where a PG-13 movie will be shown. My friend who is hosting the sleepover doesn’t seem to think this is a problem, even though the kids are all just eight years old.

Ah, that feels so much better. The metaphorical stick up my ass (see above, if you’re so rude as to read out of order) has been transported to you, rather like some sort of
Harry Potter
divination. I think a few of those were PG-13, too, and nobody much cared if you were eight as long as it was the boy-wizard movie. What’s a little magical violence among friends? I’ve noticed that PG-13 movies can be wildly different. Sometimes it’s as if the entire MPAA ratings team hasn’t even watched the movie but just picks a rating, dartboard style, and immediately breaks for a long lunch of tequila shots. Find out what the movie is, watch it in advance, and make a decision based on your idea of what’s right for your kid. Kidding! That’s a whole lot of work. Just tell this lazy heifer that the kids are too young for that movie ’cause it’s full of boobs and weed. That should do it.

Question: How do you handle it when a mom stays for a playdate? Our kids are seven years old, perfectly capable of playing together without us hovering. She seems to think I’m her playdate, but I have things to do. And, frankly, I don’t like her that much. Why can’t she just do a “dump ’n’ run”?

It doesn’t matter if you like her or not. You are using her kid to babysit your kid, and that’s the way it should be. As a parent of an only child, I’ll pimp my kid out all the time to play with someone else, just so I can have a moment to myself to work. Like right now. This woman is probably starved for adult conversation and is using her kid’s visit as an excuse to hang out. While I understand that, I have little sympathy for such inconsideration. At the very, very least, she should ask if you have plans or if she can hang out. You are going to have to say something like: “I’ve got a ton of work to do, and so my plan is to ignore the kids until they scream or set something on fire.” No? Okay. Greet them at the door, pull the kid in, and without letting her step inside, say, “You can pick up Jamie Sue at three o’clock. See you then!” Smile warmly and shut the door. If she protests (this is why you really have to shut the door), say in a cheerful tone: “I am so sorry, but I don’t have time for a visit right now. We’ll see you at three.”