Angie, Say it Isn't So.
Hi again, how are the kids, how’s Brad, blah blah blah…ARE YOU HAVING ANOTHER BABY?? Oh my God. Are you insane, woman?? I know you may find this hard to believe but I am truly not stalking you. I mean, stalking is such a harsh term, don’t you think? It’s just that it’s hard not to notice you, being that every time I go to the grocery store (which is every day because I have a lot of kids – although “a lot” is relative because I actually only have half as many as you and Brad) I see your ridiculously glowing face and am forced to read some new rumor about you. The latest being that you’re pregnant again. I can’t believe that’s true, I mean, my twins are older than your twins and I wake up every day thanking my OB for having the good sense to tie my tubes.
Maybe I shouldn’t take everything you do so personally. I’m sure you don’t mean to try and one up me -or four up me as the case will be if you have another baby. But seriously, stop it. You’re making me look bad. How am I supposed to whine on a constant basis to anyone who will listen to me about how sucky my life is with twins and a toddler when you are going around having babies as often as Joan Rivers goes in for a nip/tuck? This twins thing is really hard – like mind numbingly hard. We talked about that remember? I can barely leave the house every day by nine a.m. with one of my children (although that child, who shall remain nameless but is four-years-old and very into Ariel, feels the need to spend an hour and a half picking out just the right tank top to wear to school when it’s forty degrees outside in the sun) yet you manage to haul the entire brood back and forth to France and then off to somewhere like Bangladesh to run a food bank or film a political epic like you’re just stepping out to grab the mail. Every time I see a picture of you, you’ve got a kid in each arm, two in Brad’s knapsack and a few more trailing behind. AND YOU WANT MORE.
I’m still mourning the fact that I had to buy a minivan. When my husband drove me to the Honda dealer to pick up my new Odyssey, I think I knew exactly how a dog feels when it’s being driven to the vet to have its testicles chopped off. Sure my husband put some kickass flames on the sides to take some of the sting out of driving a total momobile, but they’re magnetic flames, because it’s a lease. So not cool! Whatever antidepressant you’re taking is the hardest working drug in showbiz because I would be crying in my bathtub with a bottle of Bombay gin right now if my husband even hinted at having more kids.
Why are you trying to make me look bad?