so i feel as though we have established my track record with out of the house encounters. in short, not so good. the outside world: 1. the girl: 0
this morning at yoga proved to be NO exception to that rule.
one of the women in class was telling some of the others about the trip she just returned from. her niece had recently had a baby and this woman had gone to help out. you know, decorate the nursery, hang out with the older child, that sort of thing. so the lynch pin of this riveting tale was this woman's grousing about "how much stuff" came with an infant. apparently any outing required no end of items just for the baby, and that didn't include the older child, a toddler, who had a bunch of stuff he traveled with, too.
so then there's an ensuing discussion among most of the class, predominantly grandparents, all much much older than myself, about how "kids these days" are buying into the whole "stuff idea" when it comes raising their children.
oh, and just so all y'all with children know, your parents, your child's GRANDPARENTS, bitch about you and your kids and your "cockamamie" ideas JUST AS MUCH as you bitch about them and their seeming inability to understand what the fuck you are telling them to do re: your kid(s). and how "they" don't know how to latch in a car seat/fit the plastic nipple in the sippy cup/work the diaper pail/etc. and "how did we ever survive being raised by them," and all that. they have all the same gripes in reverse. no joke, they all think you are just as whack as you all think they are.
all of a sudden i realize the room has gone silent and i look up from my warm up stretch to see them all looking at me. rather expectantly. so i said to the room in general
"i asked, do you have children?"
all eyes on me and i swear this is like only the third time in over a year of being in that class that any of them has ever even spoken to me. and now they were dragging me into some group discussion. but i understood, since most of the women in the room probably hadn't ovulated since before the first bush was in office (no pun intended) i got to be the de facto spokesperson for "kids these days."
"i do, two boys. 8 and 12"
"did you find you needed a lot of 'stuff' when they were real little?"
"not really. two boobs and a sling pretty much did it."
good lord you could have heard a pin drop.
you should have seen the looks on their faces. you'd think i said "nope. just endless whiskey and an illegal, underpaid, exploited, mistreated, nigerian nanny i trafficked here myself."
if they're all going to be offended about the word "boobs" then they really ought to have a chat with the woman in the shorty shorts and flimsy panties. at least my "boobs" are covered and don't jump out at you during the cobbler's pose. and don't even get me started on what i had to endure facing her during the *seated wide legged straddle.*
did somebody mention whiskey?
and it is in that spirit that i bring you this week's moment(s) of zen. otherwise known as "drunk yoga."
take a deep cleansing breath, or a shot, and enjoy.