Why are kids so f*cking dirty? They revel in their own filth, or maybe they just don't notice it, which I find impossible to believe. Lucian's fingernails are starting to look like something out of the Guinness Book and Anna's face needs a pumice stone just to get back to ground zero. I won't even get into the details of how the bottom half turns out. Usually the dialogue involves me giving a gentle reminder then handing someone a scalding hot washclothe with a few simple instructions.
"Here go wash your nethers."
"Why, I took a shower yesterday?"
"Did you have gym class today?"
"Yes."
"Go scrub up then. You don't want that nasty business hanging around you for another day, do you?"
"You're starting your own business, Mom?"
"JUST GO WASH YOUR PRIVATES FOR CHRISSAKES!!!"
It shouldn't be this difficult, should it?
This is a darkly humorous bit about life as a rural mother and freelance writer in Western Massachusetts. Little Appalachia, if you will. The title, I feel, clearly reflects how life is coming at me like an overloaded freight train, and my own ridiculous response to it. Me VERSUS all; teenage children, people who want me to work for free, conservative government, food karma, weird menfolk. You'll either laugh, shrug your shoulders, or call DSS immediately. Happy reading.
No it shouldn't! Glad to know we're not alone.
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