Wednesday, January 28, 2009

How dumb am I?

Ok I've bitched enough about ending up here. I think I'm actually more mad at myself than anything. . . To be honest, I can't believe that my 18 year old self was so much smarter than my 32 year old self.

At 18 I fully recognized the importance of getting out of this place. I knew I had to do whatever it took to get to the social and cultural opposite of this place. So how is it that after 15 years of living the dream, I ended up back at square one? Well actually a mile down the road from square one but still. . . I'm going to call it cultural amnesia. I completely forgot what a nightmare this place can be.

I guess it's not all bad. There are good schools here, the location is good too- not far from the city. If only the place was populated with people instead of these darn trophy wife androids! I guess since I'm stuck here anyway I should do my best to make it liveable. . . that's definitely going to have to involve some serious venting! I hope you're ready. . .

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

I don't fit in

I don't fit in with these people. I don't dress like them, I don't think like them, I don't care about the things they care about. I'm not a size 2. I went to college to get more than a husband. I have a job because I don't want to be a stay at home mom. And-oh most scarlet of scarlet letters- I'm divorced.

Oh yes I did! I said it- DIVORCE! Rumor around town is that they're thinking of making that word illegal. It's merest utterance within the bounds of this lovely burb ought be punishable by stoning or perhaps caning in the town square- but not in front of Talbots- that's bad for business. You see, there are no divorced people here. None. It's simply not allowed. I think they make you sign a contract when you close on your house or something. Who knows how I slipped through the cracks. . . maybe its because I grew up here? Did that little fact distract the secret police enough to let me quietly sneak in? I guess we'll never know but it looks like they've tightened things up quite a bit since then because I haven't seen another divorcee since.

If you think I'm kidding I'm not. Don't bother looking through the phone book- nobody's listed anyway including yours truly. The real skinny can be found in the school handbooks. Not unlike the parent registries at Milton, Winsor and Roxbury Latin these little books contain not only the addresses but the phone numbers and emails of some of the most "hard to get to" people in the state. And if you read very carefully, you'll find just one entry where a mommy and daddy don't share the same address- that'd be the Flyer's.

Of course those pages don't tell the truth of any of those marriages. I know for a fact quite a few of them are ridiculous shams. Just try and get both of those spouses into the same room at the same time- unless there is a social columnist
with a photographer present its not gonna happen. But for all the world to see they are still Mr. and Mrs. So and So- still just as blissfully wed as ever. . .

Do I sound bitter? I think I might actually. Which is weird because I couldn't give a hoot. I don't want what they have. If I did want that crap I'd still be Mrs. Wrong! Nope, I'd rather be Ms. Happy any day. . . We already know what happened to the Stepford Wives. I'm just trying to make it through as a Stepford mommy.


Long, Long ago, when the area that is now known as Stepford was discovered, the early settlers were so sure of the superiority of their new home that they named it "I'm-better-than-you-ville." Although the name has changed over the centuries, that same feeling of undeniable superiority on the part of the residents toward their home remains just as strong. . .

What am I doing here? Have I lost my mind? This can't be real . . . how the hell did I end up in this place?

All good questions. Perhaps the best might be: why in God's name did I pay all that money to live in a place where I don't fit in? Ok, let's be honest. I actually do know how it is that I ended up back here. It was just after giving birth to my daughter that I realized I'd accidentally married Mr. Wrong, I was completely alone and I was in
way over my head. I just wanted to go home. So I did.

Then the chaos of raising a child on my own and the nightmare which is an out of state divorce took over and before I knew it. . . it was too late. I'd missed my window. . .it was time to register for Kindergarten. I was stuck here.

Now I know how all those poor dolphin and whales feel. . . one minute you're swimming around just trying to get your bearings and the next-wham! You've stranded yourself on the beach. Except mine isn't so much of a beach- it's more like an immaculately groomed country club-like prison. But I'm still the same fish out of water.

Somehow my my knee-jerk reaction to 'come home' had resulted in my being not only a resident of Stepford but -
and here it comes so sit down - a Stepford Mommy.