Welcome to Pleasantville

My daughter’s school is so ridiculous! Every day, they send home something from school that I have to pay for. I am over it! Scholastic book sale, classroom party, teacher having a baby, student teacher leaving, student teacher takes over as long-term sub/needs a gift, Valentine’s, Read-Across-America, book drive, after-school art program (which I was all for), spirit ribbons, scratch and sniff book marks, teacher back from maternity leave.

“Mrs. Jones likes TJMaxx, Target, Olive Garden, the Town Center, pedicures, movies, blah blah blah.” I don’t give a shit. Ask me what I like!

Now it’s the Mother/Daughter dance. “Come to the school at 3 p.m. for a fitting for neon pink tee shirts (don’t forget your Sharpie to sign each other’s shirts), neon pink capri sweatpants (In what world are these appropriate?), headbands, socks….”

Um…3 p.m.? Does no one in this town work? Guess not. Moms walking to the school with their kids’ Razor scooters folded under their arms so they can scoot all the way home while mom runs behind them with their three dogs. Jaysus.

I’m going to walk to pick up my daughter with three beers and a Razor for her to carry home. Not a scooter. An actual razor blade. Uncovered. And very sharp.

2 thoughts on “Welcome to Pleasantville

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