I just read The Art of Racing in the Rain. Do not ask me who wrote it because I don’t have time to care. I liked it though, so kudos to some guy or whoever.
The point is that this is the very first book that I have read since Homeslice was nursing, and I had lots of time to just sit and wait for her to drain the life out of my (then) bodacious ta-tas.
Turns out those were the glory days: I had huge knockers and time to sit and read. Who knew that would be the highlight of my existence as a reader.
I loved my books so much and I missed them tremendously, so reading one for the first time in five years was a momentous occasion.
“I’m READING AGAIN!” Yay!
It felt like I had a part of myself back again!
Except: nay, nay.
It was not meant to be because once school started, I have been inundated with shit I really don’t want to read, but have to: PTA newsletter, Common Core Eureka! suggestions for how not to kill myself while learning “the new math,” suggestions for how to teach Homeslice to read, and a bevy of other crap that I don’t really care about but because I do not want my kids ending up homeless on the street giving hand jobs for crack, I must read the shit that comes home every day.
Mainly, I just skim it for stupid crap I have to remember like “wear pink on Thursday for Breast Cancer!” and “Wear your class color on Friday!” and “Pajama day on Wednesday!” type of bullshit.
I don’t want my kid to be party asshole and wear all black on breast cancer day. Next obvious step is prostitution.
Every week, there’s a special day to remember in addition to making sure we are wearing sneakers on gym day and have studied for spelling tests and what kid needs to return library books on which day and who has a dentist appointment.
With all this going on, do I care that there was a great turnout at the Halloween Dance? Do I need to read a letter about it? Should my tax money be thrown into the recycle bin within seconds of having received these papers?
I think not.
I was there at that dance on an exhausted Friday night, and from my perspective, it was an awkward high school dance situation that I did not want to relive.
The cops escorted one dad out for being drunk.
I was jealous because this was a sober event for children, and so I dutifully donned my ghost costume and showed up sipping water (having pre-gamed only with Xanax because omg the people and the flashing lights, loud music and the children running around like little assholes for two hours. Fuck that I had to do something!).
Had I known the cops would be escorting drunks home, I would have shown up having had winethirty in an incredibly obvious way.
As far as I’m concerned, since there was no wine served for parents, the Halloween dance sucked ass. I would have even put up with a two drink maximum. Something, anything, but throw us a freakin’ bone here! Nobody was happy to be sober. Possibly not even the kids.
But, I digress.
When it finally comes to be reading time at my house, I’m reading to Homeslice. Such tantalizing tomes as Fox Wears Socks and Cub in a Tub really aren’t getting me there.
And after working all day at my fancy lady job reading more stuff that is not of my choosing because I also do not want to wind up homeless on the streets giving hand jobs for crack, I have to come home and read school nonsense from not one but TWO teachers. Thank god I don’t have more than two kids because I just can’t even. I cannot.
Perhaps I should read this:
But I do not literally even have the time.