Just as I put the cap on the Sharpie with self-adoration and victoriously hung the calendar back on the wall with my schedule for this week all blocked out I was interrupted by most unlikely sources - KIDS! I'm not talking about the furry kind I like either. I mean real, tiny, sticky, loud, attention-whoring kids.
First was the text from my 10-year-old pal who wanted to make sure I was going to church Sunday because she really wanted to see me. I think to myself "Wasn't planning on it. It's going to rain and it's Championship Sunday." But what are you going to do? Tell Punky Brewster that you gotta watch football? That's setting a fine example. So I go.
After the services and coffee hour my energetic side kick says "You wanna go dress shopping with us?" I think to myself "Wasn't planning on it. It's going to rain and it's Championship Sunday!" But what are you going to do? Tell Punky Brewster that you gotta watch football? That's setting a fine example. So I go. The universe rewards me with a Calvin Klein tunic on the clearance rack for ten bucks after I produced a coupon on my iPhone. Thank you Dr. King. I'm starting to really like technology. Which is a big step for me and my relationship with Macy's.
The second shocking text I got Saturday night was from my pal in El Barrio on the upper east side of Manhattan who asked me to be the Godmother to her son. Wait. Let me guess. The ceremony is Super Bowl Sunday right? No. But she did do that to me last year for the baby shower. Lucky it was a blow out and I didn't miss much. But this baptism is on a weekend that I have a conference. Ug.
I don't have kids of my own and I don't see my nephews as they live states away from me. I live pretty much a kid-free life. When these invitations come up I think to myself if I wanted this I would have had kids. I think I liked it better back in the day when parents thought homosexuality was catchy. Maybe I need to move to the south.
But until then it seems to take a big, gay village to raise a child. Now I don't know if it is the fact that I mostly dress like a 12-year-old boy, my love of cartoons, or because I know how to make balloon animals but I seem to have been elected mayor. So until someone comes to their senses I'm raising an entirely new generation who fart in public and where Hello Kitty socks (just like my mall rat buddy) here on the East Coast. Did I mention I got a Scooby Doo chain wallet at Spencer's? This is all so confusing.