You all made me feel so much more normal with your comments divulging all the crazy sh-t you’ve thrown in the washing machine by accident (phones, cameras, even diamond earrings!). But Aunt Marcia (who happens to not be my Aunt Marcia but the aunt of a very close friend) outdid us all by commenting that she once threw her loaded gun in a washing machine.
I’ve met Aunt Marcia and I promise you she’s telling the truth.
Thankfully, the gun did not go off. And on the upside, her bullets now smell like blue eucalyptus and lavender.
Meanwhile, I headed back to the city this week for Summer’s doctor appointment and within moments of arriving in Manhattan, I had the guy at the parking garage SCREAMING at me to move my car (I guess I didn’t pull up far enough).
So I SHOUTED back at him that it takes just as much energy to say something nicely as it does to say something rudely. Although maybe that wasn’t the best way to make my point. Whatever.
And then minutes later, I lost one of Summer’s Ariel glitter flip flops which apparently fell off her foot and into the street while she was in the stroller. And somehow neither Summer, Dylan nor I noticed.
So I had no choice but to bring Summer to the pediatrician barefoot which I hopefully pulled off as a cool, hippy mama kind of thing. Because I think we’ve all been constrained by stifling, bourgeoisie flip flops for long enough.
Anyway, the point is – it felt good to be back in city. You know, in sort of a get-into-a-shouting-match-with-a-stranger-over-nothing-and-lose-your-kid’s-footwear-kind-of-way.
I even ran into Marinka! Who didn’t stop to say hi as much she just smiled and waved.
Damn. She totally knows I’m not city cool anymore. Either that or she was afraid if she slowed down, I’d hug her. Which I totally wouldn’t.
I also didn’t hug the garage guy when we both apologized to each other when I picked up my car.
Despite the fact that I have joined the cult of suburbia (I love it and I’m now sponsoring several city goers who are ready but resistant to make the move), I do go into Manhattan at least once a week.
Because sometimes you still hope to see Sarah Jessica Parker you just need to hang with your peeps in the old hood. Just ask Dylan and city gal pal Ella.