Skip to main content

Fairy Godmother

It's hot and huumid, and I just wrote 2800 words for a story due this week.

I have to pick up The Rabbit, drop off the dry cleaning, stop by the grocery store and find something to slop together for dinner.

My shirt is stretched out, I don't even know where my lipstick is. A fly the size of a kumquat just attacked me, and I have callouses on my feet that have measurable depth.

My brain is fried, my hair kinked out into snarls and my breath corrupted from too much coffee.

I need a pedicure. I need screens on my windows. I need a popsicle.

I need a fairy godmother. All reasonable applicants considered.

Comments

Kate B. said…
honey, you need a wife.
9:32 pm
Manhattan Mama said…
Seriously.
2:44 am
Lynne@Oberon said…
Sometimes I lay awake at night fantasing about having a housekeeper (of the live-in variety). Thinking of all the jobs I could hand over always puts me to sleep with a smile on my face ... but then again a wife would work just as well.
6:38 am
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...
11 comments
gimme more...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...
10 comments
gimme more...