Desperate in DC

Out to lunch?

Dear C,

Ever have one of those days where you find yourself drowning in the minutiae of life? I was feeling so proud of myself for canceling 10AM meeting to discuss the burning issue of what to do for the end of year second grade party, only to spend the rest of the morning trading emails back and forth on the subject. No sooner had I sent off the first amendment to the fifth draft on the matter, when I was bombarded with emails from the girls' camp counsellor, demanding receipt of their complete medical records, including Apgar scores, developmental milestones and an account of every bowel movement they have had since birth. The final nail in the coffin, inevitably, came in the form of a missive from my father, asking for the eighth time whether or not I had tracked down the missing screw from his spectacles yet. This from the man who refuses to bother the oldballandchain at work, because he is apparently far too busy catching up with Celebrity Poker to deal with such mundane requests!

As I know you frequently find yourself attending to such matters instead, say, of attending to the pool boy, I believe the time has come, dear C, for you and I to fight back. An official title and a PA to announce we are permanently out to lunch and I think we would finally garner some of the respect that tending to one's family simply never garners. Are you in?

Faithfully,

P.

Re: Out to Lunch?

P,

Your approach, although filled with excruciating earnestness, won't get us much more than a little disdain in D.C.  I find it far better to simply focus on matters we find most pressing, like doing anything the summer camp counselor requests, as one's summer spa visits are especially important for aging skin, and ignoring, well, almost everything else. 

Never doubt, dearest P, there is always another mother, and almost never a father, willing to consider the pros and cons of the much complained about teacher's end of year gift and other such pressing concerns.  There are even some, I fear, who derive a sense of ego gratification from such tasks.  My advice when you find yourself immersed by accident, is to simply either offend all others involved (I wrote the manual on this so don't hesitate to ask for specific examples), or simply don't respond at all. 

Early on in your absence the brood will cluck about your whereabouts and perhaps even inquire about your health (something I know you love to discuss so this will require some restraint).  Simply ignore all calls and emails and, eventually, you will be forgotten.  Totally.  And completely.

I know it is hard for you to imagine there are those who have such a sucking void in their lives that they agree to help on useless and unimportant matters to fill it and then instantly regret participation when effort is required.  I know, like me, you'd like to avoid all effort from the beginning and simply try to numb the void with alcohol. 

My point, dearest P, is that all this may require some patronizing tones and stares, but who, in the end, has the last laugh: the hens scurrying around to do others' bidding or us, as we lounge by the pool sipping pina coladas and reading trashy chick lit, crowing about our children and their budding independence?  They may later define it differently, but that is all for their therapists to bear, now isn't it?

Faithfully,

C. 

Better Paranoid Than Dead

Dear C,

Not sure if you have had a chance yet to look at the Five Safety Tips for Women email I forwarded to you last week.  In case you haven't, allow me to bring you up to speed with a re-cap:

1) Always disinfect the tops of soda cans before you drink out of them, because rats living in warehouses love to pee on them;
2) Always use the Full Service option at gas stations, because women who use self-serve have a tendency to spontaneously combust from the static electricity between their clothes and the pump;
3) If you hear what sounds like a crying baby anywhere near your house (including your own baby's bedroom) DO NOT, whatever you do, go see what's wrong.  Call the police instead.  It may be that a serial killer is using the recording of an infant in distress to lure you out of your home;
4) Never light a cigarette by leaning over the gas burner.  No amount of professional eyebrow waxing will ever be able to improve the results;
5) If you do happen to run over what appears to be your mother-in-law by accident, always reverse to make sure you have finished her off. You never know when she might turn out to be an axe murderer in drag.

I trust you will pass on these important tips to your nearest and dearest female friends. Who knows, if we can just keep women indoors, the world may be a safer place!

Faithfully,

P.

Re: Better Paranoid Than Dead

Dearest P,

I've often wondered about the veracity of the information contained in those kind of daily informational emails I receive from my mother.  But as you have so clearly discerned the true facts, I will never again be a doubting Thomas.  I can only, through my own hard-earned experience, add the following:

1)  Don't even think of driving a mini-van!  There are simply too many ingress/egress opportunities for evil doers.  A sports coupe with children in the trunk is a much safer bet.

2)  Don't lick a fence--even when most tempted to do so.  My boys (including hubby) have probably peed on it.

3)  Finally--and this is perhaps more a strategy than a safety issue--feigning death to rid your home of unwanted guests does, in fact, work very well. 

Oh, by the way, it turns out that I just had a fainting spell this weekend when the oldballandchain stopped by and wasn't dead after all!  No need to speak of it again.  Can't wait for our next gathering.

Faithfully,

C. 

Power at Last!

Dear C,

Do you know of a good way to deal with the thirty-odd emails I am expected to respond to on burning issues of the day?  To give you just a sample:

1. Whether or not to divide burgeoning girl scout troupe into two, thereby creating an automatic hierarchy of 'who's in', 'who's out' that will last my daughters' contemporaries through high school (the answer is maybe, depending on whether or not my child gets into the 'right' group);
2. Whether or not I am going to spend my Saturday night baking up a storm in order to make $1.50 for the Hurricane Katrina neighborhood bake sale (the answer is yes);
3. Whether or not as one of the editors of the prestigious school newsletter, we should exclude any and all mention of the regional spelling bee champion in our publication, on the grounds that she might make the other students feel bad (the answer is yes - power at last!);
4. Whether or not I can stick a poster up announcing the upcoming neighborhood yard sale without being arrested and/or forced to sell my house (the answer is no - other people need to exert power too).

Doubtless, you private school types have minions to deal with this kind of thing, which is why you can focus on work and afford to send your offspring to such establishments in the first place. Me, I'm rooting for the Taliban to win, so we can all go back to working with tablets and chisels.

Faithfully,

P.

Re: Power At Last

Dear Ms. P,

Although C finds your endless, I do mean insightful, correspondence fascinating, she is engaged in a number of high level matters which do not allow a response at this time (although I'm not free to disclose this to anyone else, I trust you may know she has simply taken to her bed).  Please feel free to continue your endless blabbing, I mean blogging, as she will, at some time or another, review the essence of your communication and find some very limited moment to comment further on your substantial burdens.

C also asked that I communicate how much additional credit you would receive as a wife and mother if you took all these burning matters to a non-existent outside-the-home office and corresponded from there.  Although you would do nothing but deal with girl scout and neighborhood sale issues, the larger world would find your position much more sympathetic.  Unfortunately, most now have the view of you, sitting on the couch eating bonbons, overwhelmed by the usual burdens of any suburban mother.  Don't feel the need to throw the tea set away just yet.  Just think about it. 

Faithfully,

C's Minion

So Much to Do, So Little Time - for some

Dear C,

Just thought you might care for a little insight into the respective to-do lists of your favorite boorish neighbors down the street:

Me:

1. Respond to flurry of emails asking for food/clothing donations for Hurricane Katrina. Gather up selection of innappropriately short/tight dresses and tops before opting to send check instead.
2. Fake homemade child's birthday card for teacher.
3. Fake orgasm with spouse.
4. Make appt. for hair, nails & fake tan.
5. Organize disco party at home for seven-year old - coordinate invitations, disco ball, karaoke machine, teenagers to do hair and make-up; re-arrange entire house to accommodate 20 screaming pre-teens; bake homemade cake.
6. Cancel all plans for above soiree, and book local bowling alley at vast expense.
7. Organize school picnic.
8. Cancel school pinic because of rain.
9. Postpone all work to take care of the above.
10. Publish Pulitzer-prize winning novel and achieve greatness before turning 40.

Oldballandchain:

1. Sleep-in after hard day's travel (basically, reading on flight to and from brief meeting in Atlanta).
2. Read newspaper in bed.
3. Commute to office (upstairs).
4. Make phone call.
5. Ask what's for lunch.
6. Watch tennis.
7. Play tennis.
8. Naptime.
9. Ask what's for dinner.
10. Finish reading novel in bed.

Hope your day is looking as fun-filled as mine!

Faithfully,

P.

Re: So Much To Do, So Little Time--for some

P,

You do know that I'm never one to burst your bubble, but it's immediately apparent that you are not only faking an orgasm with the wrong spouse as the oldballandchain mentions nothing in his "to do" list about sex (unless "watching or playing tennis" is a euphemism for same) but also spending your time in ways that cannot be described as furthering the most important goal of any wife and mother: personal satisfaction.  I do hate to be the one to tell you, dearest P, but writing anything by the age of 40 may be a stretch as you are forced to also schedule the increasingly necessary "beauty enhancements" required of any matronly, I do mean motherly, woman.

On a more positive note, I can share with you the secrets I've been keeping all these years about how to maintain a semblance of family life while achieving all of your own glorious potential (which we assume does exist for the purposes of this tutorial).  You may suggest, dearest P, that perhaps I should be more successful in my own right if, in fact, I followed my own mandates but it is a complicated formula and one not always conducive to secret addictions to chocolate and alcoholic beverages containing cranberry flavoring.  I am, in the end, my favorite friend, only an aspiring success, and leave to you the actual perfection of the plan.

To Do:

1)  Report to spouse your midnight awakening by "insert name of child" and the necessity for additional sleep in the morning (How could he not have heard?  You are, of course, just so happy not to have disturbed his increasingly necessary beauty sleep).

2) After the extended lying in, discuss loudly and often the burdensome nature of your household duties while immediately (and quietly) calling the various personal assistants assigned to carry out said duties.  If budgetary constraints are an issue, remember that this is America and there is a wonderful thing called credit which almost everyone can get. 

3) Next, disappear for hours while "working" on the various domestic tasks while relaxing and "mostly" enjoying the necessary beauty treatments (see above for reference to why  this is so important).

4)  Never miss an opportunity to "network" with anyone else's wealthy spouse as they may find your attention to personal beauty an attractive addition to their own household (I'm sure wife #1 would love to serve as nanny).

5) If all of this isn't enough, feign some illness caught by the lingering of ecoli which must have wafted in from the Big Easy and take to your bed, yet again.  It is, in the end, always the default position and a great way to escape all necessary evils: faking orgasms, teacher cards and even love for the family.

Deceitfully and Yet Faithfully Yours,

C.

Back to the Lab

Dear C,

You may be glad to hear that the 'New Man' is alive and kicking - here in England, at least.  You can spot him in the playground with his children every  evening (looking rather defeated and out of place in his pin-striped suit), and at the supermarket every weekend, looking decidedly bewildered as he attempts to wrestle with the cart, his kids, and his wife's complex Tampax requirements at one and the same time.

UK Man circa 2005 would never make hubby's egregious mistake of claiming to be the captain of his familial ship, having learned from Britain's post-colonial experience that The Man is the basic root of all evil in this world.  He knows his place, which is queuing up behind the other dads to change his toddler's nappy in the bathroom at Mcdonald's, and demonstrating his opposition to all acts of domination, by losing in the first round of Wimbledon.

Lest you find yourself hopping on the next plane to Blighty, however, dear C, I am here to reassure you that all is not bliss in this misty isle.  UK Man may never open a door for you, and will almost certainly insist on going dutch on the first date (although he would never call it that, 'date' being synonymous with commitment, of course, and therefore one of the shackles that capitalism creates to keep the proletariat in line).  As for marriage, UK Man runs screaming in horror from such a meaningless capitalist construct (see above), vastly preferring, instead, to shack up and procreate, before leaving you with the fruit of your womb in your mid-forties, while he heads off to Thailand to 'find himself', along with a nubile seventeen-year old wife.

Given the obvious flaws in this example I have described above, dear C, do you think I have inadvertently hit upon the best argument yet for more women to enter the sciences, if only to build a better prototype?

Faithfully,

P.

Re: Back To The Lab

Dearest P,

Perhaps the oldballandchain could open a series of tutoring centers in the UK, helping the poor male slobs find their inner lesbian selves?  Soon, instead of acting like women have for endless generations, UK men will be convincing their women that hauling out the trash affirms their independent identities and helps them make their mark on the world.  Of course, it's possible this type of male might also hit a mid-life crisis but is less likely to run away when clearly unprepared for basic daily tasks as toilet flushing and dental flossing.  Oh, dearest P, is there no happy medium?  Where are the independently wealthy hunks ready to serve our every whim, with an occasional surly retort so as not to lose our respect?

I'm afraid, dearest P, I must settle for the U.S. model of man his mother has so lovingly molded: he takes endless pleasure in creating offspring in his likeness, is capable of muttering the tender endearment when attempting to create additional offspring in his likeness, and is known to wade in a river with a stick and call it a sport. 

P, it's clear we have only one place to go in placing blame for the current state of our men: our mothers and mothers-in-law.  As you know all too well, I am certainly not one who enjoys placing the bulls-eye on anyone, but sometimes the facts speak for themselves.  'Fraid there's nothing science can do about it currently--but if more girls in the lab could tinker with this lot (and there's certainly the motivation to do it), then maybe we're on to something.

Faithfully,

C.