I should probably be too embarrassed to share this story, but that hasn’t stopped me from posting 85% of the content on my blog, so here goes.
Wednesday I took the kids to a perfect, casual pool party wherein multiple people told me they read my blog! That has been happening more often lately, like at meet-the-teacher day at Kindergarten when one of the moms told me she’d read all about my real estate adventures, and I’m wracking my brain thinking “Did she say she was a realtor?” If my own realtor can find my blog, read it, and comment with equanimity, though, I’m sure others can handle it.
One of the moms at the pool party that said she read my blog even used the words “addicted” and “star-struck” which made me totally forget to be embarrassed about sporting wet boob-rings on my purple T-shirt from plucking Peppers out the pool. Behold, stardom.
Anyway, the hostess said she had volunteered at the cafeteria where Fluffy goes to school. The Kindergarteners take turns wiping up and sweeping in the cafeteria as part of their “life-skills” learning. It was Fluffy’s day to be one of the three sweeper, and she was sobbing because she didn’t want to touch the broom. “No! It makes me feel like a servant!” The mom thought Fluff’s baby voice (dropped r’s and so forth) was a foreign accent and that maybe she came from a culture in which only the lower caste performed such menial tasks as sweeping. She and the teacher tried to explain to Fluffy that here in America, everybody takes a turn sweeping, but Fluffy said “I never, never, never want to do that or it will make me a servant!”
Now, I could blame Disney (and I do), but….
Flashback to the previous weekend. Kent was playing with the kids to keep them occupied while I cleaned the house. Somehow it didn’t seem fair that I was scrubbing toilets and sweeping and mopping while everyone else was playing video games and building train tracks. Now, by the end of the week, I would far rather do housework than childcare. If I never lay one block on top of another again, it will be too soon. However, I would far, far rather do none of the above on a Saturday. I’d rather drive off by myself belting witless pop songs on my way to see what manner of fall stuff is making its way into the malls and craft stores. So I was growling at everyone and grouching in a most un-Cinderella-esque way as I swept the kitchen floor.
Kent: Why are you so mad?
Me: Because…I HATE BEING THE SERVANT!