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I don’t watch Teen Moms on MTV.  If I wanted to see teen moms, I’d just go to the food court at the mall, as that’s where I find them in my town.

I think many of them believe the toddler play area is a free daycare service provided by the local Cinnabon employees.

Wait.  I think some of those teen moms are local Cinnabon employees.

Anyway, this post isn’t about the teen moms who keep me fat with copious amount of icing.  (Did you know they let you just order icing?)

This post is about Farrah Abraham, who was previously on Teen Moms.  I refuse to watch MTV ever since The Hills was cancelled, so I’m not familiar with the show.

I’m no genius (and neither is the MTV viewer demographic), but I suspect it’s a show about teen moms.

A quick search of the interwebs confirmed my suspicions, and Farrah was one of the moms featured.

Apparently, the role-model mom made a sex tape and sold it for nearly $1 million.  That’s quite the after-school job and beats the crap out of my high school job bagging groceries.

According to Farrah, she made the tape “for her personal use only.”  You know, like most teen moms raising a kid on their own do.

Being a single parent is hard and not always respected by society.  What better way to (1) earn money and (2) gain the respect of others, than by making a sex tape?

The logic is infallable.  (As is MTV’s ability to make idiotic programming.)

'Teen Mom' Farrah Abraham (Photo: Scott Gries/MTV)

‘Teen Mom’ Farrah Abraham (Photo: Scott Gries/MTV)

According to Business Insider, Farrah made the tape with no intention of selling it, and I believe her.  I know all the times I’ve made a sex tape, I’ve done so for those nights when The Big Bang Theory is in reruns and there’s nothing on HBO.

What better way to wind down from a long day at work than to watch a video of myself naked?

Some accuse Farrah of doing this for money, but I don’t see any evidence to support that.  Let’s analyze this and strip down to the bare facts.

First, if she wanted to make a sex tape to sell, would she choose infamous p0rn star James Deen to do the deed with her?  Of course not.

What purpose would that serve?  To increase sales with a well-known dong?  Pft!  Farrah’s better than that.

According to Business Insider, James Deen, has been in over 1,300 “adult” films.  I can only assume that’s a reference to films about algebra and physics, as those are certainly “adult” topics.

I’m sure Farrah had no intention of making this film for profit.  I mean, in my single days, I can’t tell you how many times I solicited infamous p0rn stars to make sex tapes with me just for fun.  Just for shits and giggles.  (Ironically, that was the name of a film I wanted to make.)

sex tapeMaking a sex tape with a p0rn star does not a p0rn star make.

Granted, at first Farrah denied the tape existed, but isn’t that the standard protocol for all sex tape scandals?

Fine role models like Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton set the Gold Coin Condom standard for the proper way to handle the distribution of sex tapes.  The first step is deny, deny deny!

Actually, the first step is to make a p0rno, but those ladies don’t seem like they’re very good with counting anything but the dollars made by their…ahem…hard work.

So I don’t fault Farrah for denying the tape’s existence.  That’s how it gets publicity. Isn’t that how the Loch Ness Monster stays relevant?  If he admitted his existence, his elusive gig would be all over.

Farrah is just taking a page from the book of our favorite amphibian.

Apparently the video has a name, Farrah Superstar:  Backdoor Teen Mom.  I’m sure that’s just the name she wrote on the sticker on the outside of the VHS tape.

I usually label my videos with titles like Lisa Loves Laundry or Suburbanite Scrubbing Sinks. Those accurately describe the contents, while using a clever name.



So I don’t fault Farrah.  I’m sure the video involves her greeting a guest at the backdoor…where all self-respecting women greet their overnight guests.

Farrah is really just a victim and James Deen is the one to blame.

After all, he went on The Today Show and told America it was all a scheme.  He said she tried to fake a relationship with him and invite paparazzi to photograph them “on a date” so the release of the “oopsie” video would be believable, but Deen wouldn’t do it.

He has standards, which are just what I look for in my favorite adult film star.

Deen refused to go “out” with her in public and let the tabloids video it.  That would just be crude.  He was fine going “in” (and out) with her in private (and in her privates).

Videotaping that was totally fine.

But go to Starbucks for a coffee and let photographers snatch some shots?  What is he?  A prostitute?  Someone who has sex for money?  Someone who gets paid to do just about anyone for a pay check?

NO.  He has standards!  He’s a p0rn star for goodness sakes!

So I’m urging you, have some sympathy for Farrah.  After all, her name is Farrah Abraham, which sounds a lot like “Father Abraham” which is a super catchy song I used to sing as a kid.

And as we all know, Father Abraham had many sons (and many sons had Father Abraham.)

I bet she’s just trying to make more babies to live up to the legend of that song.  She seems like a really religious gal.

Back CameraI’ve always loved dogs.  Kids?  Not so much.

Don’t get me wrong, my niece is the greatest thing in the world.  She’s also a genius.  But other than her, I could take or leave most kids.

**NOTE:  Just to be clear, I wouldn’t actually take a kid.  “I could take or leave it” is a saying. It’s not meant literally.  

If some kid goes missing, I don’t want to be a suspect because one of you read my blog and wanted to get back at me for the belly dancer post.  (Yes, people are still mad about it.)**

People always talk to me about their kids.  I don’t know if it’s because my “fluffy” stomach looks like I recently pushed out a love nugget, or if the constant stains on my clothes suggest I have a toddler at home who can’t feed herself.

For whatever reason, people tell me stories about their kids,complete with photos and stories ranging from Lizzie’s first poopy in the potty to Joey’s first accidental curse word.

Isn’t it so funny?”  They’ll say.  “He tried to say ‘ship’ and he said ‘shit.’  Get it?”

Yes, I get it.  It’s not cute, mostly because Joey has a lisp and needs to see a speech therapist and Lizzie is 7.  That’s NOT an impressive poopy.

Photo credit: Teller Photography, Lynn Teller

Photo credit:
Teller Photography,
Lynn Teller

In response to people showing me photos of their spawns, I try to show photos of my dogs, but I don’t get an excited reaction.  Is that fair?  Of course not.

The favor should be reciprocated.

I can assure you, I don’t want to stare at 15 photos of your baby doing the exact same fricking thing in every photo.

She’s asleep.  I get it.  She drools.  Noted.

Now look at this photo of my dog chasing his tail.

I’ve decided it’s time to make a list of reasons why my dog is better than your kid.  You knew it was coming.

1.  My dogs are cuter.

Photo credit: Teller Photography Lynn Teller

Photo credit:
Teller Photography
Lynn Teller

Look at that face.  For reals.  How can you say no to this fuzzy face?  Answer:  You can’t…unless you’re heartless…or blind…like seriously blind.

2.  They don’t eat dirt (most of the time).

Max carI know the real reason you don’t have living houseplants in your home, and it isn’t because you don’t have a “green thumb.”

It’s because little Jimmy has a “brown mouth” because he’s constantly shoving fistfulls of dirt into it.

It’s okay.  I won’t judge.  He’s obviously going to be a tree hugger when he gets older.  He’s just starting a little lower…like at the roots.

3.  My dogs are potty trained (most of the time).

Shady Jack close upI don’t have to change diapers or constantly smell my dog’s genitals to see if they’re sitting in their own feces.

They know to go to the door and whine to go out.  Now, whether I hear the whining or not, is another issue entirely.

But at least they know to do with cast

4.  Their whining can be stopped with a Milkbone.

This is true most of the time.  Sometimes it’s a combination of a Milkbone, a bag of Beggin’ Strips and a peanut butter filled Kong that does the trick.

Either way, it’s a lot easier to quiet my whining dog than it is to quiet your whining baby.  My dog’s breath also smells better.

5.  They’re neutered.


Photo Credit:
Teller Photography
Lynn Teller

Since I had their balls removed, I no longer worry about seeing that red rocket come out at uncomfortable times.  (If only the same was true of my husband.)

I don’t worry about the dreaded red lipstick coming out when guests are over.  I also don’t have to wonder why the sheets are crusty, or why they’ve locked themselves in the bathroom for an hour.

6.  They don’t have body hair in strange places.

Back CameraMostly because they have it everywhere, but I would prefer it everywhere than in uncomfortable locations.

Your son’s two armpit pubes are creeping me out, and so is his “muscle shirt” that looks remarkably like a girl’s tank top.

The glitter isn’t helping.

7.  They hump less than your kids do.

Your little angel Christina? She’s hooching it up on the weekends with her sasssy top and skirt that shows her hoo-ha when she sits down.

Since I’ve had my the reproductive organs removed from my babies, I don’t have to worry about unplanned pregnancies or child supports.

I do, however, still have to worry about STDs.  But then again, so does Christina.

Back Camera8. They don’t require me to pre-plan meals.

They get the same dinner every night without fail, no exceptions.

However, I guess if I had kids, they’d probably get mac and cheese with fish sticks every night for dinner, so maybe this isn’t very compelling.

Wait, mac and cheese and fish sticks are what I eat for dinner every night.

If it’s good enough for me, it’s good enough for the kiddos.

Back Camera

Sibling day 123

Check out the Little House on the Prairie outfits. Totally appropriate here.

Apparently today is National Siblings Day.  I’ve never heard of this made-up holiday, but I’m a little upset it isn’t celebrated with cake and a day off work.

Isn’t that the best way to honor our siblings?

I learned of this day through Twitter, as it certainly wasn’t through my own sibling.  I was unaware of the holiday, as Us Weekly the respected periodicals I read made no mention of this occasion.

Thus, I have no idea what it means, although I’m sure it requires purchasing gifts for your older sibling.  That seems like the right way to celebrate.

I’m anxiously awaiting my UPS delivery.

I have one very lucky younger brother, Smohawk (not his real name).  I say he’s lucky because, I mean, duh.  He’s my younger brother.

However, I suspect he probably doesn’t see it that way, mostly because it must have been devastating growing up in the shadow of such an inspiring older sister.

pink dress photoAnd I literally mean he was in my shadow.  I made him walk behind me.

I’m not sure what the point of National Siblings Day is, but I can only assume it’s a day to reflect upon your siblings.  Thus, I will do so by telling you a story about him.

I have so many stories about him that I don’t know where to start.  Since he has a daughter who is the love of my life, I will keep the story nice, so as not to affect my visitation rights with her.  If she didn’t exist, however, it would be “game on.”

I’m two years older than my brother, which means I was the boss growing up.  Actually, I’m sure even if I was the younger sister, I’d still be the boss.

There was never a question about who the boss was in our house.

If only Tony Danza could have suffered that same fate. But when it came to growing up with me, there were no Tony Danza issues other than the age-old question of whether he made a better housekeeper than Mr. Belvedere.  (He didn’t.)

Since I was an oppressive  a thoughtful older sister, I frequently made him do things he didn’t want to do.  This shouldn’t come as a surprise, as I boss you guys around all the time.  You like it.

I suspect my brother did what I told him to because I was scary and he feared my wrath.  He was a smart kid.

So when we were younger and home for the summer, he always wanted to watch The Price is Right.

Christmas bear shirtsAlthough I love Bob Barker, he was on the same time as a show I enjoyed called Little House on the Prairie.  You may have heard of it.  It was (and still is) the authority on all things 1880.

I loved the show and didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to watch it every day.  Obviously my brother was unpatriotic since he hated learning about our nation’s history and didn’t appreciate getting nuggets of wisdom from Ma and Pa.

Despite my brother’s clear disdain for all things American, he sat and watched this show with me every day, instead of watching what he’d prefer to watch,  The Price is Right.

I realize he stayed and watched because he was scared of me, and because I sat on his feet so he couldn’t get up.  Didn’t he know I was trying to teach him about life on the prairie, dammnit?

I was basically giving him a history lesson and all he wanted to do was watch Bob Barker hold his skinny microphone.

NOTE:  “Skinny microphone” isn’t a euphemism for something else.  He literally had a slim microphone.

National Sibling DayIf Smohawk would have to go to the bathroom, I would allow him to go, but only at commercial breaks.

I didn’t have a bathroom pass to give him, but he knew by the look in my eye there would be no excuses for missing even a second of Nellie Olsen and her manipulative antics.

The way my brother tells it, I was cruel and mean.  I disagree.  I mean, sure, I was strict about the television program he viewed, but I wanted him to be prepared for life, and the numerous runaway buggies and inadvertent barn fires that can occur if one isn’t careful.

But mean?  No.  Was his breakfast contingent on whether he watched each episode and then provide a written recap?  Of course it was.  Isn’t that what all younger brothers do?

So I guess today I will celebrate my younger brother, Smohawk, who I’m sure is living a better life today because he learned how to take precautions to prevent scarlet fever and dysentery.

You’re welcome, my dear brother.  You’re welcome.

Christmas in a golf hat

Apparently my brother was Bagger-Fricking-Vance. And check out the sweet mullett I was rocking and TOTALLY pulling off.

Anyone who has ever read children’s books knows the premise of each story isn’t necessarily realistic.  A guy named Jack who finds some magic beans that grow into a stalk that goes high, high into the sky? Really? I have a feeling I know what Jack got into, and although it was something organic, it wasn’t beans. And Jack is stingy and needs a lesson in sharing.

Even if you don’t have kids, I’m sure there’s been sometime in your life that you’ve been forced to babysit someone’s pride and joy.  If not, you’re lucky, and misfortune will surely find you at some point.  For those of you who have withstood such babysitting torture, you know you were forced to spend endless amounts of time reciting nursery rhymes and fairy tales from musty books, all the while wishing kids understood the meaning of “hangover” and “inside voice.”  (Although part of you wanted to know about the places you’ll go.  Just admit it.)

For some random reason, I recently got to thinking about children’s storybooks, and the web of crap we weave every time we present our youth with a Little Golden Book.  No wonder little Johnny thinks he can create a time travel machine and make a million dollars.  It’s because he thinks people will invest in his project instead of stealing the idea and then suing him for damages.  Sorry Johnny.  Welcome to real life.  Grab a beer and join the misery.

So what if there were children’s books that actually told the truth?  What would those books be about?  Well, fortunately for you, I’ve thought about this issue and came up with a few book ideas that I think should be made to give kids a better understanding of real life.  After all, it will just make it easier on them when they realize Santa isn’t real and the nerdy guy never gets the pretty girl…at least not until he’s 35 and owns his own video game company.

Let’s not sugar coat the truth anymore (unless “the truth” is the rim to my strawberry margarita class.  Then please, sugar coat it.)

Below is the list of ideas I’ve come up with for children’s books that will most likely dash the hopes and dreams of children everywhere.  Enjoy!

**WARNING:  Before we go any further, please heed my advice.  Don’t even think about stealing these ideas.  Little Johnny may be naive about intellectual property theft, but I took two IP classes in law school and I will seriously cut you if you even think about stealing.  For reals.**

TitleAll that glitters, gets kicked out
  Daddy came home covered in glitter and lipstick, so now he lives in an apartment that smells like cat pee.

TitleThe Farm that never was
Synopsis:  Your dog Buddy isn’t at a farm, mommy ran over him with the car and he will never come back. He’s buried in the backyard and daddy runs over his grave with the lawnmower each week.

Title: Cops and Robbers
Synopsis: What those handcuffs in mommy’s nightstand are really for.

TitleLies Pinocchio told me
Synopsis:  What happens when Pinocchio discovers his parents were the real liars.  He discovers that lying doesn’t make your nose grow.  Rather, size doesn’t matter at all.  (Okay, maybe this is perpetuating another lie and will start a whole new set of issues, but that’s for another publisher to address.)  This book will be followed up by the sequel, Pinocchio goes to Washington

TitleSwimming and eating: The real story
Synopsis:  Contrary to popular belief, you can swim immediately after eating. The pool has no idea whether you ate or not, so as long as you don’t pee in the pool, no one will ever know if you go swimming immediately after eating. Do it. This is a prequel to the book No one knows if you pee in the pool.

TitleGrown ups Throw up too
Synopsis:  Grown ups puke, but it isn’t for the same reasons you do. When mommy drinks too much vodka and daddy drinks too much bourbon, they end up with upset tummies. You will notice this trend occur on Friday and Saturday nights. It may also be a reason you and your brother get to watch whatever you want the morning after New Years Eve.

TitleTurn that frown upside down
Synopsis:  How frowning all your life really won’t make your face get stuck that way.

I’m such an artist.

TitleThe lamest game
Synopsis:  There is no such thing as the quiet game. It’s just a way to get you to be quiet. The only winner is the adult who convinces you there’s a prize. Demand something fun for a prize or refuse to play.

TitleNighttime is the right time
Synopsis:  What really happens after you go to sleep. Yes, it’s fun and yes, you would like it.

That’s all I have for now.  I’m sure you all can think of other titles for children’s storybooks that will never make it to publication.  Feel free to share those with me, but please know I may steal them and make my fortune off your idea.  At least I’m honest (about telling you I will steal.  Not about stealing.  I will totally steal your idea).

And now I’m going to go find some kid’s dreams to crush and then steal candy from a baby, mostly because WHO GIVES CANDY TO A BABY?!  Probably someone who would read these books to their kids.

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As you know, I recently did a scathing letter to the forty-something mom at the pool.  You’re welcome.  But since I’m an equal opportunity hater, I’ve decided the forty-something dad at the pool also needs a letter…just to keep things fair.  Okay, it’s not that I’m necessarily a hater.  I’m not.  I’m just an easily annoyed person who pents up all her rage and irritation and then takes it out on this blog that a total of five people read.  Here it goes.

Dear forty something dad at the pool,

Yeah, I’m looking at you.  But not because of your sexy body and No Fear swimming trunks. I’m looking at you because you’re a disaster.  And you’re not a disaster the way I am…where I play it off cute and make people laugh (hopefully).  You’re a disaster that makes me both happy and sad at the same time…kind of like eating all the guacamole.  So here are a few things you should know.

1.  You don’t have a six pack.

At least not on your body you don’t.  Although you may be sucking in your gut, you will need a lot more than a simple inhalation of breath to make that thing look attractive.  Here’s a hint:  when people talk about “six pack abs,” they aren’t talking about downing a six pack in 30 minutes.  Yes, that six pack technically goes to the area covered by your abs, but that’s not what they’re referring to.  They’re talking about crunches.  Do some.  But not now.  I don’t want to see your butt crack while you attempt to work out.  Save that shit for your mirror at home.

2.  You need a trim.

I’m not talking about your rapidly receding hair line; I’m talking about your chest hair.  You could french braid it, slap a bow on it and send it off to first grade.  No one wants to see that.  I’m not saying you should get your entire chest waxed.  I’m pretty sure you don’t have enough money to pay for that much time with a salon technician (or that many days off work).  I’m just saying perhaps you should run a pair of scissors over your chest every now and again.  If I can see your chest hair floating in the pool around you like a life vest, it’s too long.  And if you aren’t going to heed my advice, shampoo that shit every now and again.  It’s getting dandruff.

3.  Your butt crack isn’t attractive.

You may like to see a hint of a woman’s crack while she’s wearing a string bikini.  Maybe you think that’s sexy, I don’t know.  However, I assure you women don’t feel the same way about your crack.  The last thing we want to see when we go to the pool is your crusty crack and the hair peeking out from it.  (Take my advice on #2 above and apply it to this as well.)  No one cares about your junk in the trunk.  Hike up those shorts and get a wash rag in there every now and again.  You’re stinking up the pool and making us all sick, and we still want to get snow cones later.

4.  Stop pretending you’re super cool.

Seriously.  We all saw you pull up in the parking lot in your 1999 Dodge minivan.  Not only did we see it, we heard it because you seem to be missing a muffler (and any understanding of what women find attractive).  So put away your fancy keys with what you call a “clicker thing” that unlocks the doors.  We’ve all got one of those.  It isn’t super cool technology that just came out.  We are also no longer taping television shows on VHS, so don’t invite the poor lifeguard over to watch “taped” episodes of Dallas.  She doesn’t know what that means and I’m pretty sure she’s calling the authorities on you right now.  You better get to that van and skedaddle before the cops arrive.

dad with kids at pool

5.   Jumping off the high dive isn’t going to impress anyone other than your five-year old.

Yes, we can all see that you’re capable of climbing the ladder to the high dive.  That’s probably because you climb ladders everyday as part of your regular job.  We’re not impressed.  We also don’t care that you can make “a big ole’ splash” and yell “cannonball” when you jump off the board.  You aren’t the first person to do that and you won’t be the last.  The seventh grader behind you is getting ready to do the same thing, and he’s cuter than you and has less credit card debt.

Do you know what’s impressive to a woman?  A 401k and a dental plan.  You clearly don’t know about the latter as you have sunflower seeds in your teeth from about a week ago.  Grab some floss and get off the high dive.  And seriously, pull up your trunks.  You could smuggle a small child inside that deep crack of yours.

So there you go.  I’m equally offensive to both men and women.  I just hope none of them read this blog, as there are a few weeks left of summer and I still want to be let back into the pool.  I’ve got several more cannonballs to do!


I’m sure you’ve all seen the photos from the website  If you haven’t, go there immediately after reading this blog, but not before.  Seriously.  Don’t do it now.

If you haven’t been to the website, you don’t have to be a genius to figure out the content of the page.  (I would suspect you also don’t have to be a genius to be featured on the page either.  Actually, I’m pretty sure everyone featured there has an IQ lower than a stick of gum).

I’ve been a fan of this site for a few years because it always gives me a good chuckle, and an urge to dial the Department of Children and Welfare Services.  I’m not sure what makes people think these poses are appropriate, but I’m happy they do because it gives me plenty of laughs.  Here is one of my favorites.

This photo can be found at

I like to call this photo “Hop on Pop” because that’s exactly what happened.  There are so many things wrong with this photo that I don’t know where to begin.

So let’s start with the obvious question:  Are these people drunk?  I hope they are, as this is the only way I can view this picture without getting the urge to scrub my body with steel wool to get the incest off.

But seriously, whose idea was this photo?  Was this planned or did they all just feel the need to spoon each other for the camera?  Do they do this at home?  They look quite comfortable in this arrangement, which makes me think this isn’t the first time they’ve done this.

And whose idea was this pose?  If it was the photographer’s idea, I suggest that photographer be put down immediately.  (I’ve convinced myself the photog is a guy.  Duh).

I’m not sure if I like it any better if it was the dad’s idea, as that probably makes him a pedophile in some way, which makes me uncomfortable…almost as uncomfortable as he must be buried under that pile on.

And after Dad had this brilliant idea for the pose, did he then come up with the idea for the location or was the location the inspiration for the pose?  I know nothing says “Let’s all lay on top of each other in denim” quite like a large body of water.

That’s why I don’t like family trips to the beach.  There’s too much pressure to pile on each other as the urge is so strong with the water right there.  It’s too hard to resist.

And why denim?  Is the denim to make them all comfortable so they can try to forget that they are in an extremely uncomfortable position?

I don’t think denim fabric is strong enough to wash away the feel of little Johnny’s naughty parts crushed against his brother Alvin.  That’s a memory that will require lots of therapy and a strong heroin addiction to forget.

And really with the denim shirts too?  A regular black or white polo wouldn’t do?  Well, maybe that would add too much contrast to the photo, and there’s already enough going on in this picture without any further distractions.  Although, apparently little Jimmy on top didn’t get the memo that it was light colored denim tops and not dark.

denim zipper

I have a feeling this kid has a closet full of these denim shirts in varying shades, and he simply grabbed one for this photo.  It’s good that he likes the look of these shirts, as it will suit him well when he gets to prison in a few years.

Perhaps what is most disturbing about this photo (aside from the obvious enjoyment this family gets from pressing their privates together), is that Mom and Dad aren’t laying together.  I would think it would be natural to have Mom lay on top of Dad.  Well, not natural, but logical.

Although if they were going for logical, they wouldn’t have chosen a grassy knoll by the river as the spot for their family portrait.  I feel like Alvin (the kid on top of Pop…keep up) probably volunteered to hop on pop first.  His smile is all too genuine and he looks a little too excited about the photo and his positioning.

This picture makes me sad; not necessarily because it paints denim in an unfair light, but because I’m pretty sure this photo is hanging proudly over someone’s mantle somewhere.

Well, maybe not so much a mantle as a 1972 black and white TV…and maybe not so much a TV but a dumpster.  Either way, this photo definitely makes me feel better about my family photos…and it gives me a great idea for next year’s photo shoot!

Peer pressure at the pool

Summer is almost over and I couldn’t be more sad about it. But to cheer me up (and hopefully you), I’m republishing one of my favorite pool stories from 2013. Enjoy!

***DISCLAIMER:  Sadly, this entire story is true, and has not been altered.  I wish it had been.***

I live in the Midwest, which means extreme temperatures for each season.  We don’t just have winter, we have winter that freezes the snot as soon as it comes out of your nose.  And we don’t just have summer, we have summer that scorches and boils the snot as it comes out of your nose.

Apparently in the Midwest we also have some serious sinus problems and constant nose drainage.

When the heat index is over 100 degrees in the Midwest, the only option to keep cool is to go to the pool.

Recently, I went for a relaxing afternoon, armed with my beach bag of pool necessities including trashy gossip magazines and iced beverages.

When I arrived, I jumped in the pool immediately to cool off.  As I doggy paddled gracefully in the shallow end, a boy came splashed over, looked me straight in the eye and said “Are you Jason’s mom?”

photo credit: R.O Mania♥ via photopin cc

photo credit: R.O Mania♥ via photopin cc

My body isn’t “swimsuit ready” which is why I rock the one piece with a cute little skirt.  This swimsuit was definitely a “mom” suit, so I took no offense to his question.

I advised the boy that I didn’t know Jason, nor was I his mother.

I would have thought that ended the communication, but he was persistent.

My goggles broke.  Can you fix them?”

At this point I felt a little sorry for Jason’s mom. Did she always have to deal with these random repairs?

The strap wasn’t attached to the goggles, so I reattached it.  I asked him if the repair was to his liking.

Instead of giving a polite answer, he held his pointer finger up in the universal “one moment” gesture, and went under water to test my handy work.

I hoped he wasn’t taking a closer look at my bathing suit.  If he did he would see the remnants of my lunch on it.  He didn’t notice but came up and said the fix was to his liking.  Considering he was quite picky, I was relieved.

Once again, I thought this would be the end of our interaction, but he stayed and stared.  In an effort at chit-chat, the seven year old told me his name was J.T. and it was his second day going off the diving board.  He said it with such pride it was as if he had just solved the oil crisis instead of simply jumping off a metal board.

photo credit: Yatmandu via photopin cc

photo credit: Yatmandu via photopin cc

I told him I was impressed because I was scared of the diving board.

He looked at me with a serious face, and asked: “Is it because you’re afraid the board will break if you get on it?”

Um….seriously kid?!  I realize I may have gained some weight, but did he think I was so large the diving board couldn’t support me?

After I caught my breath from the shock of his question, I responded.  “No, I’m just scared of falling.”

This answer was ridiculous to him, as the whole point of the diving board was to fall. He then became intent on getting me to jump.

He recruited his friend Jayden, who was sporting a mean mohawk.  Jayden said it was his first day going off the diving board and it was easy.

photo credit: melissaclark via photopin cc

photo credit: melissaclark via photopin cc

Any kid who could successfully pull off a mohawk was more brave than I was, so his diving board skills didn’t shock me.

J.T. thought about it for a second, and in an effort to coax me into jumping he said “I bet if you did a cannon ball off the diving board, it would make a huge splash.”

This kid was going to get cut if he kept referencing my weight.  I get it….I’m big.  Get over it.  I told him I wasn’t interested in jumping.

J.T. and Jayden then took things to a new level…a level I wasn’t expecting.  Without any hesitation, J.T. said “What are you, a scaredy cat?”  Jayden then began chiming in with his sing songy voice “Scaredy cat, scaredy cat.”

I may be fat, and I may look like Jason’s mom, but I am not a scaredy cat.  There was no way I was going to allow such accusations to fly.

photo credit: Carplips via photopin cc

photo credit: Carplips via photopin cc

I told the little terrors I wasn’t a scaredy cat.  Why did these kids care if I jumped?  Did they get a kickback from the pool?

In an effort to fully convince me, Jayden and J.T. said they would jump off and show me how to do it.  Grateful to have them leave the pool, I agreed to the plan.

They trotted over to the diving board, revealing their Spider Man and Cars swimming trunks, and proceeded to gracefully jump off the diving board.  As soon as J.T. emerged from the water post-jump, he pointed to me, and then pointed to the diving board.

It was time to pay the piper.

I hoisted myself out of the water.  As I stood in line, my heart started beating faster and I tried to keep my breathing steady.  There was no way I could back out now.  My pride was on the line, and I had to prove I wasn’t a scaredy cat…


Are you scared?” He asked, staring me in the eye.

photo credit: Neil Krug via photopin cc

photo credit: Neil Krug via photopin cc

Yes.” I responded to this devil child.

Is it because you’re a girl?”  This kid was clearly a masochist with his high pressure tactics and I suspect he’ll be selling timeshares in Nebraska in a few years.

No, it’s not because I’m a girl.”  I retorted.  “Are you saying girls aren’t as brave as boys?”

Not to be outdone, J.T. responded without missing a beat, and pointed to Jayden and said “No.  That’s what he said.”

Jayden was not happy about being thrown under the bus, but he didn’t refute it.  I’m not sure if it’s because he was deathly afraid of J.T. (who wouldn’t be?) or because the allegations were true.  Either way, he let it go.

It was my turn on the boards and I had a decision to make.  I could walk away and endure endless taunting for the rest of the summer, or I could buck up, pray the board held my weight, and make a huge splash.

I summoned my inner child and knew I couldn’t let these bullies get away with calling me a scaredy cat.

photo credit: Josh Kenzer via photopin cc

photo credit: Josh Kenzer via photopin cc

I took to the board, my legs shaky.  I knew if I looked down I would chicken out, so I just began running.  I ran with all of my might (which is pretty pathetic considering the diving board is only a few feet long).

I felt like I was running in slow motion (I probably was), and I swear I heard the song Chariots of Fire as I sprinted down the board.  Instead of jumping off I just continued to run until I no longer had footing under me.

I felt like Road Runner just moments after he realizes there’s no more road under his feet, assuming Road Runner wears a bathing suit akin to Jason’s mom’s.

I landed, most likely with a huge splash.  I emerged with a huge smile and laughing.  I couldn’t believe I was bulled by second graders.  The allegations of a scaredy cat still affected me in my 30s.

I swam to the edge and saw J.T. and Jayden cheering me on with a thumbs up.  I’m not so sure if they were happy I jumped or if they were reeling from the gigantic splash I made.  I decided not to ask.

I returned to my chair with a sense of accomplishment.  I hadn’t hiked to the top of a mountain or conquered my fear of snakes, but I mastered my diving board fear, thanks to two pushy second graders.

I was just hoped they stayed away from me for good, as I didn’t want them to discover my other fears.  They’d have me charming snakes in no time.

photo credit: Daniele Zedda via photopin cc

photo credit: Daniele Zedda via photopin cc