A Room of One's Own: Call your mom. I mean it.

Do it right now. Pick up the phone and say, "Mom, I apologize for anything and everything I may have done between the ages of 13 and 19. I am so sorry. Thank you for not shipping my sorry ass to a third world nation."

My best friend, Shari, was what my mother calls a child bride. She got married at 19 and had her daughter about a year later. She is way ahead of me in the game. It freaks me out to think that she will be done with all in home mothering in less than four years. Freaks me ass right out. My daughter, on the other hand, is three. Three is hard. Very hard. There have been days I wished I could have shipped her to a third world country but then she crawls in my lap and the world is good again.

Shari came over last night and brought me beer and asked me if I would pick up her daughter, Kellyanne, and take her to her choir recital tonight. I agree even though bitch can't do it herself because she's going to Hootie with another friend. Bitches. All of them. Yeah, that's right. I love the Hootie. It's totally VH1 of me but I don't care. Bring on the Hootie.

Tonight is the first in a three concert high school choir performance. Saturday is the big deal where all the family will come. Still, the 14 year old chick is a little nervous in that geeky freshman way. I pick her up at 6:30 knowing that if I am there at 6:32 the child will call my cell and ask where I am. Annoys the shit out of me, but I still love her. Concert starts at 7:30. I get her there at 6:54. We're good. My daughter and I get halfway home and Kellyanne calls and tells me she forgot her tights and can I run by her house and grab them and bring them to her. Christ on a damn cracker! I have no key on my person so I have to go back by the school.

I am not pleased. I call her mom and let Shari know her child is being shipped to aforementioned third world nation. I get to the school, get the key and she tells me the tights are in a Target bag "somewhere in the apartment." Oh fuck that. Then she asks me to hurry. Double fuck THAT. I get to the apartment and there are NO tights. Anywhere. I call her and now I am digging in her dirty laundry trying to find tights and remember which is the worst of all the African countries. No tights. She tells me she can borrow and extra pair of someone else's. Um, this option was not presented before?

Now I have to bring the key back. It is 7:13. She tries to politely tell me to hurry. My answer was not polite. I may have referred to her as "young lady" and our conversation ended with a "Yes, ma'am" and a click. I love scaring kids! It's a hoot and a half! I get the key in her hand at 7:24 and she scurries off.

I immediately called my mom and had the conversation I just said you should have. She was real quiet and then she said, "And look what you get to look forward to." Then she erupted into the most evil, maniacal laugh I have ever heard. She is so enjoying my motherhood. She better watch it though because if she's not careful, instead of the retirement home, it's Africa.