Wednesday, November 9, 2011


I've just read through the stock pile of saved posts in my drafts folders.  Mind you, the pile is only two-deep, so it didn't take long.  But they're both lame.  It seems that I can either be completely sarcastic or a little maudlin.  When I try to ride the fence between those two, well, the mental image is not good.

So. Back to snark. Unfortunately, no one has irritated me today.  It's my day off. That's not to say that I couldn't get entirely irritated with myself for something. I do it frequently. But I haven't done enough to be irritating today.  Mostly I spent the past half hour watching the little one-minute videos of Hannah when she was 2 or 3 that are peppered throughout my iPhoto library.  I love munchkin talk.  And not just my munchkin. I like anyone's munchkin talk.  Preschoolers are the most reasonable and concrete thinkers.  A friend recently posted on her Facebook that her son told her that since she does so many things for him, it's like he has a lot of mommies.  Perfectly logical: how could just one mommy do all that stuff? There must be a team hidden away.  Did you check the garage?  I know they're around here somewhere.

If I had one of those teams of mommies, it would be more like that Michael Keaton movie where each subsequent copy of himself was more stupid and clumsy than the last.  Yep. That'd be me.  I'd be bumping into myself and dropping stuff and spilling stuff even more than I do now.  I don't recommend a team of Jennifers.

The other way that could go is that each one would have a decreasingly effective self-monitoring system, and by the time you got to Copy 4 she'd be correcting everyone's grammar and pointing out to people how they didn't dry the glasses completely before putting them into the cabinet.  No one really wants to be around her.  It's actually kind of funny to think about what Copy 4 would say if she slipped into my office at work:

Okay, so you're telling me that you only hit your wife when she deserved it? And that time you threw her out of the moving car into a ditch she REALLY deserved it? Because she laughed at you in the convenience store.  And you don't know why she left you, huh?  Really?

Oh. Wait. That conversation actually happened once.  Maybe I am Copy 4.  Geeze.  That would explain a lot of the dropsey stuff.  

Where's the original version of me, anyway?  She must be unbelievably graceful and tactful.  I need to find that chic.

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