My seven year old came home today and told me she had a boyfriend.
I need a drink.
I have been doing this parenting gig for nearly eight years now, and the married thing for fifteen years. At this point I have a vague memory of when I used to be fun and talk about things that did not directly pertain to the hilarious thing the baby did today. But most of those stories start, “Once upon a time, mommy had a life…”
I sat in the courtroom with my heart pounding. I had been fidgeting for hours. When my name was called I felt like I might vomit, or pass out, or both.
It started out as a day of jury duty. No big deal. I sat down in the jury room and saw that I had been quoted in Cosmopolitan online. I was flying as I reposted the article with all the excitement of a week starting out perfectly right.
They called my name to go to department 10 on the 7th floor. I’ve gone through the process of jury selection before. It’s long and tedious so I smuggled in a book for the really slow parts. I was only half paying attention until they read the charges.
The people of the state of California vs. X person, charged with lewd acts upon a child.
I am a really good liar. I spent most of my life lying.
I lied in middle school when I spent the summer having sleepovers with my best friend.
--Our all-night makeout sessions were just an experiment.
I lied when I stared at the models in Seventeen magazine.
--I was a normal girl interested in fashion.
I lied when I said I was saving myself for marriage.
--I was “picky,” and “shy.”
I lied in high school when I decided I should not have female friends.
--They were dramatic and annoying.
I lied in college when I said I loved the boyfriend I wasn't attracted to.
--He’s a good guy and I want a family.