I have to start this post by apologizing to my friend, Jessica. I spent three days in San Antonio, and was supposed to hook up with her one of those days…but never found the time amid a dizzying schedule of events. Yes, Jessica, chasing after this pig took priority. I can only hope you understand.
And then I have to apologize to my neighbor, Helen. She and I were supposed to meet up around wine-thirty and take the tots to the park while boozing it up in the gazebo. I got side-tracked by a phone call from Henry’s school after he got a black eye trying to shoot his assistant with a rubber band, had it back-fire, and nail him square in the sclera. (When asked about his wrongdoing, he promised to “have better aim next time.” Great.)
The truth is that, though I wish to play and cavort and gallivant, alas, there are times when I cannot. Work, travel, kids…all get in the way. Kids especially. (And before some nit-picky, angry, lunatic skips to the comment section to ask me why I had kids if I was just going to complain about them, let me take a moment to say to that person, “Fuck you,” and “Go Away.”)
Of course, we all have competing priorities and, generally, I think mine are well-balanced. At least, relative to most people. With that in mind, I’d like to take this opportunity to list the top three persons or groups who need to re-evaluate their priorities:
#1 : Anyone who watched TLC’s “Honey-Boo-Boo” instead of watching the Republican National Convention. I realize it's a lot to ask, but just once every 4 years couldn't we stop watching the shit on TLC and watch the shit at the national conventions? I realize it would be more fun if Mitt Romney said, "A dollar ain't worth a holler - make it two and I'll think about it" or if Barack Obama said, "I want to protect women's biscuit rights,” but you can’t strike hillbilly gold everywhere. I just hope Mama and Sugar Bear are in on the joke and are laughing all the way to the bank.
#2 : Peaches Geldof. “Who the hell is Peaches?” you ask. Peaches Geldof is semi-famous because she is Bob Geldof's daughter. I’d like to give more insight than that, but I can’t. It doesn’t matter, anyway. The reason people are talking about Peaches is because, tragically, she was pushing her baby in a pram in London when she hit a pothole or tripped or some such thing and the baby toppled out, hitting the cement. Poor Peaches, right? Here’s the difference between you and me and Peaches: When the stroller tipped, Peaches was on her cell phone and she was photographed making every effort to avoid dropping her phone and/or ending her phone call WHILE she tried to get her baby off the sidewalk. Who does that? I’m glad the PHONE was okay. And before the throngs of judgment come my way, No! She was NOT on the phone with her transplant doctor or engaged in hostage negotiations or trying talk some guy off a ledge.
3#: The parent who sent their kid to school with head lice so they didn’t have to miss work. I found the letter in Henry’s backpack yesterday….the one designed to “educate about head lice so that parents can take steps at home to help prevent other children from contracting” the little bastards. Really, it’s a formal way to beg those who aren't doing their due diligence to stop sending infested kids to school and to get their shit together. Those stubborn little fuckers are tricky, opportunistic and crawl faster than an unsupervised baby towards an exposed live wire. I’m trying hard not to sound like a pussy here, but IF your kid has lice – keep him/her home. JESUS CHRIST, DON’T SEND THEM TO SCHOOL! I don’t care what you use to kill those nasty little bloodsuckers, just fucking kill them. But you are NOT done there. Not by a long shot. Nuking the creepy crawlers on your kid’s melon is just the start. You have to literally boil the shit out of your linens, vacuum the beds, furniture and whatever the fuck else your kid has been near, scour your house from floor to ceiling, and put whatever you can’t boil or bleach in plastic bags for days in order to suffocate the tricky little motherfuckers. If all else fails, FUMIGATE. But please, please, please, for the love of all the is holy, DO NOT SEND YOUR KIDS TO SCHOOL UNTIL THE BUGS – OR YOUR CHILDREN – ARE DEAD. Whichever comes first.