Now that school is in session, I think I should introduce myself.
I know you’ve seen me around the neighborhood this summer, I’m sorry I couldn’t chat. I’ve been a bit frazzled, you know, with the trying to stay alive until September and all that jazz. But I’m feeling pretty good now. Because by Jove, I’ve done it!
Now that I actually have time for things like conversation and teeth brushing (important components to any friendship), I’d like to say hello.
I’m Slacker Mom Friend. It’s nice to meet you.
If you want to be my pal, I feel like our relationship, unlike my marriage, should be built on transparency.
As such, let me give you picture of what you’re getting into—unlike those perfect photos on Instagram that I share with the people I want to trick into thinking I am beautiful/wonderful/wearing pants.
I’m going to give you the real shit. It’s the TRUTH, people. Can you handle the truth?
Truth #1: I can’t talk to you on the telephone. Ever.
There will be a point in our friendship that you will think about picking up the phone to give me a call. DON’T.
I can’t talk. And even if I can, it will not be an enjoyable conversation for either of us.
I will seem like someone with multiple personalities. “What’s that Tracy? That’s too much fish food. Yes, you should totally have told him to fuck off! Sweetheart, I’m sorry, not you. Mommy shouldn’t say ‘fuck.’”
I will accidentally hang up on you when I attempt to use call waiting for the 467th time (maybe if I just press HOLD CALL?), despite knowing I will probably, really just hang up on you.
Save yourself from my madness and TEXT ME. K?
I hide my crazy a lot better when you can’t actually hear it.
Truth #2: I’m not actually wearing pants.
When you see me sitting in my mini-van at the bus stop, do NOT approach my vehicle.
If you want to be my friend, you must sit in your car, I will sit in mine and we will talk through our open car windows. Unless it is raining and then we will just wave and smile and use unintelligible hand motions, which loosely translate to I haven’t slept in 13 years and Can you believe these are our lives?
If you approach my vehicle, I will resemble something like a caged animal. I might shift in my seat and offer nonsensical blathering until you retreat in discomfort.
Or I might just roll up my window and peel away.
You see, as much as I look put together from your car window, close inspection ruins the mystery. Not only have I not brushed my teeth or my hair or washed off last night’s makeup, I have buttoned that sweater that you see from afar over my nightgown.
So step away from the vehicle, friend. It’s best for both of us.
Let’s keep that mystery alive as long as possible.
Truth #3: We probably won’t ever actually hang out.
I will want to go places with you, eat meals, drink wine and wear pants. But here’s the thing: I won’t be able to.
And neither will you.
We will talk (TEXT) about a Girls Night Out and throw out dates and times. We will mention a movie, a restaurant we want to try, a paint-that-picture-that-someone-else-drew activity night. We have good intentions. But my kids have marching band and your babysitter got a boyfriend. And well . . . you know,
So our relationship has been relegated to rapid fire conversation at birthday parties while our kids bury some other kids they’ve never met in the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese’s.
Or yelling at each other from our respective car windows at the bus stop.
I’m not wearing any pants.
Yeah? Me neither.
I always thought I would like you.
We should always be friends.
We should. Maybe we can plan a Girls Night!
I’d love that. I’ll check my schedule.
You bet, friend.
This original piece by Nicole Jankowski was written exclusively for In the Powder Room, a division of Hold My Purse Productions, LLC. Image credit: © Depositphotos.com/Slphotography