8 April YTSDB
I thoroughly resent the intrusion of financial and funereal business that has for days kept me from my all-important journaling. However, I must faithfully render obeisance to convention and duty until my time here has expired. (I sometimes fear THAT MAN will be the untimely death of me yet.)Imagine, Charles and Mario had to scurry about searching for something James called Infinite Jest, a cartridge so compelling and occasionally lethal that his last wish was to have it interred with him so that nobody else would suffer its ill effects. Why did he not just destroy it? Most likely his enormous ego prevented it. More importantly, why did he not suffer any ill effects from creating that film? Oh yes, apparently he did! How ironic and strangely fitting that he chose to commend his gray matter to hell on April Fool's Day. Did he know that the French word for April is Avril?
Today I must address the 'term of endearment' with which I have been saddled. My sons all call me 'The Moms' and I suspect they may even gleefully refer to me with utter disrespect when they interact with their cronies. Why, before you can say 'howling fantods' some of the less circumspect of them will begin to address me in that insulting manner as well! The MOMS ! Hello, is there more than ONE of me? What do they know of which I myself remain ignorant?
At least in the privacy of my journal, I can set the record straight. I detest having been thrust into the role of 'mom', let alone portraying it in plural.
James and I did not have a satisfactory conjugal life, but our perfunctory mating resulted in what sex education manuals warn us about: enfants! I married naive, and he had said "Trust me," and look what happened: Obnoxious Orin. I later trusted someone else and look what THAT got me: M-probable Mario. Never mind that I lived almost nine full months in denial over that pregnancy! And then along came Howling Hal. After that I took care of 'matters' myself - I need not commit those details to paper here. But from their earliest sibling days my precocious, irreverant boys absorbed their father's gender-bias and thus I became The Moms. I cringe each time I hear it. I cringe even just remembering it being said and writing it down. So I did what any feminist elitist non-child liking woman would do: I played their game. I came up with a rejoinder that they inexplicably found hilarious. Whenever they finally made their way out the door, I would always say, almost sotto voce, 'Do not under any circumstances allow yourself to have fun.' It cheers me no end to know that they have always thought me droll, flip and making jest. But I was just being truthful. Why should they have fun if I couldn't? I should have shouted it from the HmH rooftop!
Oh, hell...yet another interruption.
(End of entry.)
No comments:
Post a Comment