I know, I know, it’s been a while. I think the last time we talked, I was looking for some help getting my period, like that Margaret girl (and btw, thanks for nothing). Anyway, in case you don’t remember me, I’m the one who doesn’t really like people all that much. I mean, not all people, of course – I like my friends, and some of my family – I just don’t like the really annoying people with whom You seemed to populate most of the world (and dude, what is up with that??). I think You know who I’m talking about. That one supermarket checker who always tries to chat me up about my cheese selection. Strangers in elevators who feel compelled to talk during a thirty second ride. People in restaurants who sit next to me and eavesdrop, and then try to join in on my conversation. I mean, I’m just not interested, you know? But about that, I do want to say thank you for a few things. 1) Thanks for making my husband. There are very few people I could live with, let alone live with every single day for the rest of my life, and so it was cool of You to make someone who is almost as misanthropic as I am. Do you know what he said the other day? I was feeling kind of loner-like, even for me, and so I suggested that we should maybe make plans with this couple who we kind of know but haven’t ever really gone out with. Totally out of character, I know. But he said, honey, I already have enough friends. I don’t need anymore. And do you really feel like having another person that you’ll have to talk to on the phone? And I was like, you are so right. I don’t know what I was thinking. And so anyway, thanks for that. 2) Thanks for the whole writer gig. I mean, no annoying co-workers, no office politics, no sucking up to a boss. I just get to sit in a room, by myself, for six hours a day, and get paid for it. How great is that?? A brilliant move. I really, really, appreciate it.
So do you remember me now? You do? Okay, so then what is up with giving me the friendliest freakin’ kid ever? Huh? What is that about? I mean, You made me the way that I am, right? And You made my husband the way that he is. And presumably, You thought we were a pretty good match. So then what makes You think that we would know what to do with a kid who talks to every single person in the universe? Every single one, God. Every. Single. One. Now, okay, yes, sometimes, it’s cute. Like, the other day, when she told some random lady at the dry cleaners that she just bought two new ballet dresses and that she’s going to wear the pink one this week and the white one next week, and then she’ll wear the pink one again, so it’ll be like a pattern: pink, white, pink, white, pink, white. I’ll admit, it made me smile. But most of the time it just totally freaks me out. I mean, it is against my nature, You know? Like that time when we she was three, and we were outside on the balcony, having a tea party. She heard our neighbor across the street come home, and my instinct was to duck down and hide, which was exactly what I did. But then Little Miss Social Butterfly stands up and starts yelling at the top of her lungs. Hi, neighbor! I’m having a tea party with my mommy. She’s right here, but you can’t see her because she’s hiding. But it’s not really tea, it’s just water, but we’re pretending its tea, even though I don’t really like tea, I like lemonade better. Mommy, can it be a lemonade party instead of a tea party? I was so busted, and I had to stand up and pretend that I wasn’t hiding, ha, ha, ha, and then I had to make small talk for ten minutes with my neighbor, who’s nice and everything, but I think we’ve already established how I feel about small talk.
And what about that time last week, when we were going for a walk in the neighborhood, and we saw some friends of hers from school and their nannies. They were totally on the other side of the street, at least fifty feet ahead, and in a million years they would never have known that we were behind them, which was just fine with me. But there goes my kid, chasing after them, waving, and somehow I end up with all of them in my house; me, three kids and two nannies who don’t speak a lick of English, and now I’m forced not only to make small talk, but to make small talk in a foreign language. I mean, come on, God. Is Depeche Mode right about you? Do you really have a sick sense of humor?
When people ask us who she takes after, we have no idea what to say. The only thing we’ve been able to come up with is that maybe it’s like math, when two negatives make a positive. Now, I don’t know if You’re punishing me for something, or if this is Your way of telling me that I should maybe be a little nicer to people, or maybe a little less intolerant of total morons, like that old lady yesterday who I screamed at for not staying in her lane, but I’m here to tell You that I’ve gotten the message, LOUD AND CLEAR. Okay? And look, what’s done is done. She is who she is, You can’t change her now, blah, blah, blah. I get it. And so all I’m asking for is this: when she’s old enough, can you at least just try to make sure that she has a well-developed sense of sarcasm? Because I don’t really think that I could deal with a literal-minded kid.
Are we cool? Great.
Thanks a lot, God.