A friend of mine called me the other day, and suggested that we set aside one day a week for just us girls. The idea thrilled me! It’s been years since I’ve spent time with anyone (except BOB) sans Piggle. As much as I love the gibberish-ridden chats I have with the boy, he’s not very good at girl-talk, so I jumped at the chance to engage in a conversation more stimulating than discussing whether or not one needs to poop on the potty.
Sitters were established, and the day, Wednesday, marked on each other’s calendars. An issue arose, however…
Having been in relative isolation for so long, playing Mom, all ideas for things to do with another adult have been completely erased from my mind. Adding to the dilemma is the fact that the few brain cells Piggle hasn’t yet sucked out through my nipples are now being tortured and obliterated by his sister, Cricket. A brain-dead hermit does not make for a very good date planner.
For several days since her proposal, I have been scouring the deepest chasms of my mind, searching for just one activity that doesn’t include a Hot Wheels or the singing of Old MacDonald. I was at a complete loss. It was terribly depressing to admit that I’ve become so boring. I didn’t want to report back to her with nothing, fearing that she’d either find herself a new partner in crime, or worse, be in the same predicament as me, reducing us to staring mindlessly at a wall until it came time to pick up the boys.
And then it hit me; the most brilliant idea I’ve ever had! I knew exactly what I would suggest to her for our weekly get-togethers: