Mothers On Men

Today my friend Steph dyed my hair darker and cut bangs.  I loved it.  I left the salon feeling sexy and revived, ready to take on another fascinating day of cooking dinner.  I went to pick up my 5 year-old who said “I want my old mom back.  Why did you do that to yourself?”  I told her I owned my head and that I could do whatever I wanted with it.  We then went to pick up my 7 year-old from school.  My youngest daughter saw her sister and ran down to meet her, whispering something in her ear.  My eyes narrowed.

They walked over to me and I asked my other daughter how her day was.  Then they both started running away from me screaming “THAT’S NOT MY MOTHER!  WHERE IS OUR MOM?! HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLP US!”  with a bunch of parents crowding around.  Okay. Stop.  Before I proceed with my story, I have a theory.  It is called M.O.M. or Mothers On Men.  As previously discussed, the ferocity of a mother is similar to that of a whore greedily describing her sexual liaison with a married star to a tabloid.  It.Is.Unfreakingstoppable. Take for instance, my neighborhood.  Last year, there was some creepy fucker driving around the neighborhood and accompanying schools, WATCHING CHILDREN.

Big.Mistake.  One astute M.O.M. bore witness to this repugnant atrocity and memorized his license plate.  To ensure the fastest method of telecommunication she called my mother, sent out an e-mail to every U.S. citizen and sent courier pigeons to the African plains to deliver this information to Aboriginal tribesmen.  Within a matter of minutes, everyone within the county, neighboring states, varying continents and stratosphere knew to be on the lookout for this loathsome creature.  M.O.M.’s stealthily followed him home, scouted out his residence and released a description of every shingle, species of existing horticulture and precise measurements of canine fecal matter. 

The police were notified and notified and notified. Schools sent home e-mail reminders that a there was a creep on the prowl.  M.O.M.’s enlisted some muscle and had their man servants confront the d-bag on countless occasions.  M.O.M.’s diligently watched the suspect’s every move and took shifts staking out his property with pitchforks and fire torches.  Finally the dumb f’er wised up and disappeared oooooooooooor more likely, the M.O.M.’s elite senior officers offed him on an undercover mission because I have not heard another word about him.  Bottom Line:  You do not fuck with the M.O.M.’s.  Ever.

So as you might imagine, when a group of M.O.M.’s including a crossing guard, heard 2 little girls running away screaming “THAT IS NOT MY MOTHER………………..!” all senses were immediately alerted and mini-vans screeched to an instantaneous halt.  Fortunately, in my case I was recognized by a few of my fellow M.O.M’s and was given the opportunity to reveal a private birthmark following a retina scan before I was tackled and maced.  A couple cheek swabs and hair follicle DNA confirmation tests later we were permitted to leave the premises.

I relayed this story to Mike when he got home.  He naively asked if I was mad.  I just chuckled at his ignorance.  My plan is working perfectly……. By the end of this year my workload will be significantly alleviated as I will be displaying a blue Mohawk and various piercings and will subsequently become unrecognizable to my children. XO

P.S.  Thanks M.O.M.’s.  I appreciate the extension of your title to include “Women” today when I attempted to kidnap my children.  Well done soldiers, I am damn proud of you.     

Me and a fellow M.O.M.