7 Days of Sex
If My Life Were a Sitcom
I can’t quite put my finger on when I decided that laughing was so much more fun than crying…but at some point in the past 30 plus years of my life I developed a sense of humor about everything other than death and terminal illness. And the more I laugh at myself, the more I feel the hand of divine intervention…setting me up to be the main character in amazingly funny sitcom.
You see, if my life were a sitcom, the character playing yours truly would offer hours of entertainment to the audience, using the crazy world of network television news as a backdrop. For example, she would constantly be searching for something she lost, while saying out loud that she is confused. A metaphor? Perhaps. But the truth behind this is that I lost a hot dog today.
Yes. You read correctly. I lost a hot dog.
I took a frozen vegetarian hot dog out of the freezer to prepare for my 15 month old's dinner (relax, I cut it in quarters) and I lost it. She was yelling about wanting water, so I put it down somewhere – in the kitchen (I think), got Ellie’s water in her sippy cup, and somewhere in there, lost a damn hot dog. 3 hours have gone by, and I still have no idea where that frozen – and now thawing – vegetarian hot dog is.
In addition to looking for a frozen hot dog, the amazingly beautiful woman playing me would also be constantly searching for her keys, while scratching her head and saying, “I have no idea why I am always so tired.” She would obviously be partaking in a willful suspension of disbelief about how exhausting single motherhood – or any motherhood – truly is.
While mom is looking for her keys, scratching her head, the little girl playing Ellie would be constantly eating food of an unknown origin off the floor – prompting mom to yell, “What did you just put in your mouth? What is that? Come here!” and then aggressively performing a finger sweep, only to realize it is stale Cheerio.
The audience would have a very difficult time recognizing my weekday character from my weekend character. I am writing this on Sunday at 8:16pm and I am proud to announce that I have stayed in my pajamas all day, and I haven’t brushed my teeth or showered at all today. This might appear to be a non-issue accept for the fact that I went grocery shopping, did laundry and went to the wine store, all in this condition. Tomorrow, I will put on my heels, pretend to not notice that I haven’t shaved my legs, put on a button down shirt and pencil skirt and enjoy the compliments of, “Oh my god, you look so good,” all while knowing that no one would say that if they saw me today.
In my sitcom, people could be calling my daughter a boy, despite the fact that nearly every single day since her birth, she has worn an outfit that is comprised of at least 60% percent pink. My character would totally have visions of punching these people in their stupid heads, while smiling and saying, “SHE is 15-months-old,” when someone says, “How old is he?”
The best part of the sitcom would be whenever my character is in a doctor’s office and she makes jokes about everything from her lack of sex life, to the odd flap of skin that hangs over her pants which makes the six-pack she still believes she has, totally discernable. The doctors would smile awkwardly while asking if she wants to discuss different options in birth control, and my character would say something like, “Well I would, I just have anyone to discuss that with right now.”
Finally, there would always have to be “that guy” making an appearance in each episode. Which guy? THAT guy. The one that is just odd. I seem to only attract the men that NO ONE wants to take home to mom. He can be anyone from the creepy Dunkin Donuts guy that always used to tell me how soft my hands were (eeewww) to the less than stellar men that I have dated. It is basically the same character, just wearing different pants, but carrying the same amount of crap…therefore offering an endless amount of entertainment.