Ladies, ladies, ladies… we need to have a talk. I understand the desire to be fashionable (stop laughing! I said I UNDERSTAND the desire, not that I can BE fashionable). I understand the lure of the highly inappropriate, yet highly desirable Manolo Blahnik. I do! I just wish the rest of you understood the importance of steering clear of said Blahniks unless you can walk in them!
Everyday, I see women teetering down the street in shoes they can’t walk in – thereby gumming up the works for the rest of us. Have you ever tried to descend a staircase behind a ninny ‘wearing’ (read: enduring) these torture devices? They drop each foot onto the next stair so gingerly, you’d think the shoes were made of glass (or, then again, it may be that their feet hurt so much that they FEEL like glass).
Of course, they’re also carrying some enormous bowling-bag of a purse, slung at the elbow of a crooked arm, both arms out for balance, so no one can get past them. Soooo frustrating. Of course, I end up behind these women on the stairs into the subway, or out of it, EVERY DAY. It makes me want to tie them to a chair, force them into flats and batter them with their inappropriately over-sized purses! Reason # 512 not to wear heels all day long.
So, I’m 31. Ack! Lots of people e-mailed and facebooked and called to say “Happy Birthday”, which was wonderful, and my father even called to sing to me with his “Men’s Chorus” (he, my brother and the other fella that works with them all gather around the phone, put it on speaker and sing Happy Birthday in their best Operatic voices – it’s HYSTERICAL). I was sort of sad though, that I didn’t hear from any of the people I consider “close” friends. Not one. Curious, wouldn’t you say? How is it that ALL my “close” friends forgot my birthday? They’re all on Facebook, so it’s not like they’re not notified of it… Hmm. Strange and really disappointing. Nothing makes you feel smaller and more insignificant than when The Harpies you work with make a bigger deal out of your birthday than your best friend. 
I didn’t do anything for my birthday – mainly because I left it too late to try and organize, and because most everybody was already booked. Oh well. I ended up sitting at home on the actual day (a Friday), eating leftover pizza, watching movies and drinking half a bottle of pink champagne because everyone I know was busy. It sort of sucked ass.
But then it got better – I went to work on Saturday morning and brought cookies (so I was a hero with my Dad & brother & Winston, their co-worker), got yelled at by a customer, which was less-than-stellar, but it’s okay because then I went back to my parents’ house and had a FUNDUE! Yes, that’s right, a FUNdue, not a “fondue” like the rest of the world has. Ours are MUCH more fun.
My sister and her boyfriend (my wanna-bro, her “main squeeze”) came up to my parents’ house for the night (I suspect it was partially out of pity because they knew I had nothing to do) for fundue, birthday cookie (my Mom makes these enormous, decorated chocolate chip cookies instead of cakes), too much drinking (note to self: NEVER combine birthday cookie, red wine and Irish coffees EVER again. Danger, Will Robinson!) and Trivial Pursuit (I suspect that the game may have been thrown or a set up… it’s the only way I can explain having won –if my recollection is right- whilst being THAT drunk).
So, a couple of weeks ago, I was at my little cousin’s Christening (sitting beside my other cousin who was whispering “It burns! It burns!” to me as the baby was being baptised. I almost split something, trying not to laugh out loud in the silent church). At the party afterward, there were about five kids under the age of three running around and squealing and whatnot. Out of nowhere, my Uncle Gerry announces, “We need more grandkids in this family.” Eeep! We all thought he was the one that WOULDN’T push us for grandkids!
Of course, we all looked over to Erin, Uncle Gerry’s eldest daughter, also his only married daughter. She shook her head and tastefully expressed her desire to wait by stating to her husband, “You don’t want to know what having a baby would do to my body! I’m not having a baby for a LONG time.” 
He started making jokes about her having twins, and I think she nearly smacked him. Entertaining.
Anyway, eventually, after we’d all made fun of Erin’s protestations, my Mom turned around and made some comment about how *I* could provide her with a grandchild. I told her, “Sure, Mom. You provide me with the guy, I’ll provide you with a grandkid.” She turned back to me and said, “Well, you know, women HAVE become pregnant from one-night stands.” ACK! What?! WHAT?! I just about shook her by the shoulders and demanded to know what the body snatchers had done with my Mother! My Mother, who never, EVER pressured us to find boy/girlfriends, get married or have kids, was ADVOCATING GETTING KNOCKED UP!
Well, being the swift thinker that I am (should I wait for you to stop laughing? Nah, I’ll go on. Just catch up when you catch your breath), I hushed the room and yelled, “I need a witness here!” Then explained to the room how my Mother had just sanctioned grandchildren by way of one-night stands. There was about two seconds of silence, followed by laughter. They thought I was joking! Crap! Even THEY thought it was so out of character for my Mom that they thought it was laughable! My Mom turned back to me and told me, “That’s not exactly what I meant!” and I reassured her by saying, “Don’t worry, Mom. Now that I know it’s okay with you if I go out and get myself up the duff by a stranger, I’ll be MUCH happier (wink, wink). And, when the grandchild comes, YOU can raise it, since you so desperately want one.” Apparently, that’s not what she meant, either. Oh well… I guess she’ll just have to wait. Or adopt. 
