Thursday, May 04, 2006
I just got back from the big grade school art show with my munchkins, and oh what a divine comedy of frolicking fun it was.
There is nothing quite like an evening packed into a smelly grade school weaving through swarms of wealthy white people who are all pretending to be from Mr. Rogers neighborhood.
We squeezed past pregnant mothers, snot nosed kids, and disgruntled dads, to seek out the art my kiddies had on display. This only took about half an eternity, as there were only thirty thousand mini masterpieces plastering the walls like a Sesame Street explosion.
When I was mere inches from going Columbine, we finally found my boy's frog sculpture. I must say I liked it. There was something in the expression that moved me, (or maybe it was the mosh pit of parents, moving me along the hallway like fans at a Smashing Pumpkins concert.)
Anyway, I told him I loved it, he beamed with pride, and we got out alive.
Im home now, safe and sound, with cocktail in hand, only mildly traumatized from the energy of that wholesome goody two shoes mob of Plastic Revlon Barbies.
Maybe I'll run for office on the platform of mandatory, State Subsidized Abortion.