This beauty arrived in my inbox this morning, damn near screaming at me: NATIONWIDE SEARCH NOW UNDERWAY FOR ACTIVE TEXAS MOMS.
“When a party needs to be thrown, hers is an extravagant affair. Time to decorate for the holidays? Her lights are brightest, her garniture is couture. If a friend needs advice, she tells it like it is, and when there is a dispute in the neighborhood, residents yield to her verdict. She is a voice in the community, recognized at the salon, revered by her child’s teachers for her participation in the classroom (and for never, ever sending a box of cookies for the class party, but rather, gourmet treats that are lavishly adorned.) She keeps herself involved in her child’s affairs, hosts hobby night for her social circle, and has a point of view. A woman who believes that second place is not an option. She strives for the perfect life, and stops at nothing to achieve it. It’s hard to believe that women like this exist – but a Los Angeles based production company believes they are out there, and wants them to star in their very own series.
A nationwide search is currently underway for the perfect Mom – outgoing, multi-tasking “Super Moms” who demand the best from their children, families, friends, and themselves, all without ever having a hair out of place. Women who enjoy being involved, whose schedules are packed from morning to night, and who take pride in their children, their home, their accomplishments, and their appearance are encouraged to apply.
For these smart, independent, ‘top dog’ Moms who do it all, and thrive in what some would consider a permanent whirlwind of activity; this could be the chance of a lifetime.”
I hope the chance to which they’re referring is a glimpse into what they’re burying, what emotions they’re trying to suffocate. I hope it’s a chance to interact with a world-renowned therapist. Take it from me, I’ve been there. I’ve tried, sometimes still try, but that’s enough. I don’t need (or want) to be the voice of the community, am mostly irritated as all fcuk by these women, and want them no where near me. But… the women who manage to send their child to school with gold leaf truffles, in coordinated outfits, with a dessert bar at the birthday, I promise you, something else is missing. Most likely sex. I would know. I can’t remember the last time I had sex. Genuinely. Can’t remember. Think it was drunk in Vegas. Once. And it’s not a blame game or a “look at us,” game. It’s a yawn. It’s a chore. It’s another thing to get done. When my life is packed with to-do’s, I’m never doing “it.” So, take heed, Alpha Moms. Sometimes sloppy is the way to go.