Monday, August 15, 2005
OK, maybe I spoke too soon
I'm beginning to realize that I could have all the men I want, if only I were five years old. Sadly, I haven't been five years old for about 20 years now, and the fact that the only boys who seem to flirt with me these days are in the single digits, age wise, is just starting to get kind of depressing.
Is it possible that, sometime in the recent past, under the influence of an unspecified substance, I could have gotten a tattoo on my forehead that reads "Parents, please let me entertain your children while you sunbathe/read a book/canoodle with your spouse in the shallow end/otherwise find some way to ignore the repeated shouts of, 'Watch! Watch! Watch!' Really! Don't let the fact that I am swimming in the lap lane fool you into thinking that I am actually trying to swim laps." Nah, I think I'd remember something like that, inebriated or not.
So then is it possible that, after working at a baby magazine for so long, I've started to develop some maternal instinct that has begun to seep out of my pores and attract attention-starved pool children, despite my best attempts to supress it? God, how frightening.
Or maybe it's just that the kids have read my blog and word has gotten around that I'm willing to watch their death-defying feats in return for some cute little anecdote to laugh about at dinner parties and write a blog post about the next day. Eh, as long as they keep the assholes away from me, who am I to complain?
I'm beginning to realize that I could have all the men I want, if only I were five years old. Sadly, I haven't been five years old for about 20 years now, and the fact that the only boys who seem to flirt with me these days are in the single digits, age wise, is just starting to get kind of depressing.
Is it possible that, sometime in the recent past, under the influence of an unspecified substance, I could have gotten a tattoo on my forehead that reads "Parents, please let me entertain your children while you sunbathe/read a book/canoodle with your spouse in the shallow end/otherwise find some way to ignore the repeated shouts of, 'Watch! Watch! Watch!' Really! Don't let the fact that I am swimming in the lap lane fool you into thinking that I am actually trying to swim laps." Nah, I think I'd remember something like that, inebriated or not.
So then is it possible that, after working at a baby magazine for so long, I've started to develop some maternal instinct that has begun to seep out of my pores and attract attention-starved pool children, despite my best attempts to supress it? God, how frightening.
Or maybe it's just that the kids have read my blog and word has gotten around that I'm willing to watch their death-defying feats in return for some cute little anecdote to laugh about at dinner parties and write a blog post about the next day. Eh, as long as they keep the assholes away from me, who am I to complain?
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