Ten New Rights For Twenty-Ten

Winter break is officially over! Now that Doug is back at the office and the kids are out of the house and enjoying school's nurturing atmosphere, I can finally get back to my hobbies, which alternate between running around and running around maniacally. Since this is Minnesota and, for the next two months, the temperature will rarely crawl above 25 degrees, the running is pretty much limited to errands and kid-related crap. Once it gets nice out, though, I'll get busier and the crazy people will start to surface, pasty-white legs and all. In order to keep these outings as pleasant and stress-free as possible, I have decided that since I'm not making any New Year's resolutions, I needed some new rights.

1. If I am behind someone that is driving more than ten miles under the speed limit, weaving between lanes, failing to accelerate at a green light, sitting at a stop sign with no intention of proceeding, or basically being a shitty driver, and this person is obviously texting or talking while simultaneously trying to fetch French fries off of the car floor and shove a double cheeseburger into their mouth, I have the right to honk at them no fewer than five times. Gestures are also acceptable as long as there aren't any kids in the car with me.
2. When another shopper at Target or the grocery store repeatedly gets in my way, and they're talking on the phone, I have the right to say "Excuse me" in a voice louder than necessary, while simultaneously giving them a look that says: "You're an inconsiderate moron. Get off the fucking phone."
3. I have the right to not have to love all of my neighbors, especially the one that specializes in using loud yard equipment after 9pm.
4. If, while at the park, someone starts talking to me about potty training, ECFE, moms clubs, sleeping habits, or is bitching about their spouse, I have the right to say: "Those topics bore me. Go away." If, however, the person compliments me on my cute flip-flops, shares details about a little-known happy hour, or wants to rip on the mom who is talking about potty training, I have the right to ask her to move in with me.
5. If a teenager that doesn't belong to me shows up in my backyard at noon for the 16th day in a row this summer, I have the right to ask him where he's having lunch and say, "Sorry, but we're all out of food."
6. If someone gives me a backhanded compliment, I have the right to not always accept it gracefully and with a smile.
7. If a little kid with a giant booger hanging out of his nose asks me for help on the monkey bars while his mom sits her bib-overalled butt on the park bench talking about potty training, I have the right to say: "NO! I'm busy. Go ask your mom."
8. When some skinny bitch fishes for compliments by saying that she "looks fat" and is "getting lines around her eyes," or asks me, "Does this Brazilian-cut bikini make me look fat?" I have the right to agree with her and answer "Yes, it does."
9. If unattended kids are throwing fistfuls of rocks at the park, and my daughter is in the direct line of fire, I have the right to yell at someone else's unattended kids and/or throw rocks back.
10. I have the right to grill more steak, less chicken, and drink more vodka.

Feel free to add to this list of rights, or use some of them for yourself as needed. After all, sharing is fun, even though I always reserve the right to say "No, it's mine!"

No Fishing Allowed

Over the weekend, while the boys played a couple hours of tennis, Zoe and I went swimming. A bunch of middle-aged moms in swimsuits, in December, in Minnesota, doesn't exactly provide the same scenery as South Beach. It's obvious that we've all jammed a couple duffel bags through the keyhole, collagen is in short supply, and the boob fairy has a sick sense of humor. But no one cares about any of this because after all, we're not voluntarily swimming in an over-chlorinated indoor pool to impress other women with, or feel bad about, our bodies. We're there to swim with our kids and have fun.

After we were done swimming and had attempted to eradicate all traces of chlorine from our hair, Zoe and I stood at our locker with strategically placed towels, ready to dive into the "try to look presentable with the contents of a gym bag" routine. Unfortunately, there was a crazy lady standing nearby that didn't think towel use was necessary. She had a rail-thin body that had probably never digested a carb, tanning bed skin that resembled beef jerky, and a couple frontal additions that she obviously wasn't born with. This was a woman that was out to impress us with her body and hopefully make us feel bad.

She stood completely naked in front of the mirror, slowly combed her hair, and then finally grabbed some jeans. After looking around at the other normal-looking people, she loudly announced: "Oh. Look at that. I'm still all wet. I hate getting dressed when I'm all wet. I'll just have to dry my hair while the rest of me air dries." Then, she looked at me and continued: "Oh. Your little girl is so cute. My daughter is 24 and borrows all my stuff, including my clothes. We're the same size, you know. I still can't believe I have a 24-year-old. Isn't that hard to believe?"

"No. Not really. You're probably the same size because of that crazy thing called genetics." Yes, I know she was fishing for me to say something like: "Wow! That's amazing! You are sooo skinny and look incredibly young! I wish I could look like you!" But the truth is, she didn't look amazing. She looked like she needed to eat a meatball hoagie on real bread, embrace at least 5% of her natural hair color (I know for a fact that she isn't really a blonde), and put on a bra.

Instead of just getting dressed and leaving, which is what we were all hoping for, she continued: "Yep. The same size. Size zero, in fact. She buys me clothes just so she can wear them first, since we have the same taste, too."

At this point, I didn't trust myself to say anything besides "Mmm hmm. That's interesting." before I flipped on my hair dryer. The thing is, the more I thought about this woman, the more irritated I became. A health club is filled with bodies of all shapes and sizes. Every person that has taken the initiative to get there has the same goal: to be in better shape and to feel good about themselves. The last thing any woman needs is to have to deal with some skinny bitch that knows she's skinny flaunt her naked ass through the locker room, fishing for compliments.

I've decided that my resolutions for the New Year aren't going to include any drastic weight loss measures, desires to look like anyone else, or fighting the laws of nature. They will include carbs, cocktails, the occasional workout, more carbs, yanking out a gray hair here and there, and resisting the urge to push leathery-skinned skinny bitches into the deep end of the over-chlorinated pool.