The Woman Who Is Always Tan and Has a Flat Stomach

by Lauren Allison

  So the cake had three candles, the kids all had fun, and later that evening after Caroline had fallen asleep, we called a visiting nurses temp agency to help us get up off the couch.

  About six months later, I had the misfortune to run up against… the Perfect Birthday Mom. Her daughter sent out a birthday invitation to my daughter and before long the happy day arrived. As we walked up the sidewalk, we saw that a water-filled moat had been dug out around the house, and a drawbridge was being let up and down at the front door into what had become “Cinderella’s Castle.” I was stunned.

  For the first activity, the Perfect Birthday Mom had made a huge piñata in the likeness of Cinderella’s evil stepmother. The girls took turns trying to knock it silly. When it opened, beautiful little treasures fell out, such as hand-embroidered doll dresses in the Cinderella birthday theme. I was overwhelmed.

  Then the Perfect Birthday Mom announced it was craft time. This involved putting together an intricate design of jewels that each girl could attach to a Tiffany-quality lampshade for her own room. I felt weak all over.

  But the party favors were the final, spectacular finish to this birthday celebration. Each girl was given a huge, beautifully wrapped box containing a Cinderella dress hand-sewn by the Perfect Birthday Mom. Each girl’s dress fit perfectly.

  I ran to my car and downed some Prozac that I keep locked in the glove compartment for emergencies.

  After the party, I displayed symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. I had nightmares that I had fallen into the moat while leading my daughter across the drawbridge only to be attacked by an alligator that had the face of the Perfect Birthday Mom. Or I would dream that at my daughter’s next birthday party, our party favor to our guests consisted of week-old Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

  A few weeks before Caroline’s fourth birthday, I said to Michael, “Okay, for Caroline’s next birthday, we need to do better. We can’t expect to keep sliding through these parties with nothing but some Elmer’s glue and macaroni. We need to keep up. Do you have any suggestions?”

  He thought for a full minute and then said, “No.”

  “Why don’t we hire someone to do her party this year?”

  “Really,” he said excitedly, “you can find people out there who are willing to entertain twelve four-year-olds for three hours?”

  “It might be a little expensive.”

  “Of course it would be expensive. It’s asking a great deal of someone in terms of emotional, physical, and mental stamina. Even if it requires refinancing our house, let’s do it.”

  So we hired Silly the Clown. She was worth every penny of her craft-worthy soul. My husband and I vacillated between the video camera and our afternoon tea. Silly was a little slice of heaven sent down just for those of us who can’t tell the difference between papier-mâché and a paper shredder (I always get those two mixed up).

  After that party I was able to reduce the amount of my antidepressants again. My nightmares stopped. We had Silly back for the fifth birthday, and then the sixth. Sure, our mortgage payments have increased. But life is good again.

  23

  The Craft Mom Who Sends You an Exquisitely Handmade Thank-You Note for the Baby Gift You Sent to Her Fourth Child

  If you have a child, especially a daughter, sooner or later you’ll encounter the Craft Mom. She loves coming up with new and exciting craft projects for her daughter to do with friends. Before you know it, you’ll feel completely inadequate. Why? Let me count the ways.

  The first time Caroline visited her new friend’s house, she returned home having made an exquisitely designed, handcrafted, beaded purse, similar to the ones they sell in Neiman Marcus for four hundred dollars.

  The second time Caroline visited the Craft Mom’s home, she returned with a sixteen-by-twenty picture of herself and her new friend. It had a handcrafted frame that the Craft Mom helped my daughter carefully prime and cover with a metallic coating, making it suitable for hanging in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

  The third time will be the final one for reasons that will soon be all too obvious. After this latest encounter with the Craft Mom, my child returned home having made a two-foot-by-five-foot stained-glass picture depicting the Last Supper. This masterpiece stands on a harp-like pedestal, which the Craft Mom carefully unloaded in my driveway from the back of her Suburban.

  Even after having her fourth child, the Craft Mom sent me a handmade thank-you note for the baby shower I attended. The note is written on paper that she made herself, and even includes heartfelt thanks for running out to her car and getting the diaper bag during the baby shower. In contrast, after Caroline was born, I simply took ads out in newspapers in all the major cities that had people sending us gifts. If they couldn’t be bothered to notice the half-inch ad in the personals section, it wasn’t my fault.

  Finally, I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I invited Caroline’s new friend over. After she arrived, the conversation went something like this:

  Caroline said, “So, Mom, since Melissa and I made such neat things at her house, what can we make here?”

  “Uh… well… umm… gee… I suppose we could try to find some glue somewhere and glue something together.”

  They looked at each other.

  My daughter said, “I think you used up all the glue when you tried to glue that picture to the wall because you couldn’t find any picture hooks.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Maybe we could cut something up instead. I have some paper in the computer printer. No, check that. I forgot that we’re out. But there must be paper in this house somewhere.”

  They watched as I searched the house for paper and finally found some in the fax machine. I said, “Now, for the scissors. I think I saw some in the garage a few weeks ago.”

  They looked at each other again.

  “Ah, Mom, I think that we’ll just skip the craft project today?

  “I wouldn’t hear of it. Take out some canned vegetables and we can trace around the bottom of the cans, and then cut out some lovely circles. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  They both looked at their feet.

  “Mom, you know, maybe we’ll just watch a video.”

  “I’ve got it! Let’s string some Cheerios and make garlands for the birds—except I’m out of Cheerios so we’d have to use Rice Krispies. And I don’t have string but we could use dental floss.”

  “That’s okay, Mom.”

  “We could go out and look for some rocks and then dip them in food coloring. Except the only food coloring I have left is brown. So I guess they’d just end up looking like rocks.”

  “Really, Mom, I don’t think…”

  “We could take some egg cartons and make lovely jewelry boxes out of them.”

  My daughter said quickly, “Mom, I just remembered I was going to clean my room.”

  Her friend nodded. “I’d be happy to help her.”

  “Whatever you think, but I’m happy to do a project with you two. Maybe we could see if we still have some Play-Doh in the house.”

  They gasped and ran out of the room, grateful to escape into housework.

  24

  The Perfect Grocery Store Mom Who Always Goes Through the Check-Out Lane Quickly

  Just yesterday, I had a close encounter with the Perfect Grocery Store Mom.

  After frantically driving up and down all the parking aisles in the supermarket parking lot, I finally found a spot at the farthest end of the main aisle. I then made the half-mile trek to the store.

  During my hike I noticed a car pulling into the spot closest to the entrance. Out came the Perfect Grocery Store Mom. She was wearing a warm-up suit trimmed with gold edging. She wore beautiful gold jewelry to match. Even her tennis shoes had gold laces. Accompanying her was her beautifully dressed child. They both appeared happy to be grocery shopping.

  We entered the store at the same time. Usually I hung around the baked goods section for the free samples, but I decided to try and keep up with the Perfect Grocery Store
Mom instead.

  I followed her into the produce section and noticed that she masterfully ripped open a plastic produce bag and placed asparagus in it all with one hand, while continuing to drive the cart with the other.

  I also noticed her stash of coupons. I overheard her daughter asking her why she used coupons. “Darling,” said the Perfect Grocery Store Mom, “last year I saved enough on groceries for all of us to take that trip around the world. Remember?”

  “Oh, yes, Mommy, that was wonderful.”

  I felt sick.

  She moved on to canned goods while I stopped to ask a woman who worked in the bakery department if she could decipher my grocery list for me. She called a few guys in the meat department over to help and we all finally figured out that the item I had written down that looked like “chilled lava” was actually “distilled water.”

  By now, the Perfect Grocery Store Mom had gained considerably on me. And then I fell even farther behind because my shopping cart lost one of its wheels. I flagged down an employee to show him. He just handed me a screwdriver and kept walking.

  I finally got tired of reattaching the wheel and decided to just check out and call my husband to pick up the other things I needed on his way home from work.

  The Perfect Grocery Store Mom pulled into the checkout area just as I did. The manager noticed her pull up and ran over to open a lane for her. I went over to another lane. Just then bulbs began to flash and confetti was streaming everywhere. Over the loudspeaker I heard, “And now, on aisle six we have our fifty thousandth customer. And in celebration of this event, she has won free groceries for a year!” Balloons floated down from the ceiling, and the winner was: the Perfect Grocery Store Mom.

  As I approached my checkout clerk, she said to me, “They want a group shot of all of us clerks with the fifty thousandth customer, so I’ll be right back.” I busied myself with the current magazines.

  I read an article on how Camilla Parker Bowles loves to go bowling, just as her last name sort of implies, and I read that cracking your knuckles is the result of a release of gas in the joint fluid—who knew? Finally, my clerk returned.

  “Wasn’t that something?” she said joyously. “What luck, to be the fifty thousandth customer.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said.

  She began checking out my groceries. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I have to leave again. My register tape just ran out and I’ll need to go to the back storeroom to get some more.”

  I sighed. “Can’t I just move to another checkout lane?”

  “That’ll screw up our entire system, since I’ve already started checking out your groceries. I’ll be right back.”

  While I was waiting, one of the managers went by with the two-hundred-dollar floral arrangement for the Perfect Grocery Store Mom. As he passed me the CONGRATULATIONS sign on top of the flowers fell over and broke eight of my dozen eggs.

  I continued to busy myself with magazines. I read about how to decorate your living room using nothing but birdhouses, how to disguise a carrot soufflé so your children and husband will eat it (you completely cover it with butter brickle candy), and the most surprising article of all: “How to Achieve Emotional Balance by Raising Bees.”

  By then the festivities had made their way outside, so at least I didn’t have to listen to the Perfect Grocery Store Mom’s acceptance speech over the loudspeaker anymore. I asked another clerk in the lane next to me when she thought my clerk might return with the tape.

  She said, “I got the last roll of tape in the back storeroom this morning. But a truck’s supposed to come in with more tape.”

  I looked around and assessed the situation. I had eight cracked eggs, I had read all of the magazines, and my only hope of a clerk rested on a truck that’s “supposed to come in with more tape.”

  I decided to just give up, leave the store, and ask my husband to pick up everything. I made the long trek to my car, got in, and began driving. Just as I was about to drive by the Perfect Grocery Store Mom’s car, she backed out and blocked the aisle. Then a crew of reporters from Channel 11 pulled up in front of her and ran up and asked if they could get some footage. They hollered at me that it would only take about half an hour. I turned and looked back to see if I could back up, but noticed crews from Channels 3, 5, 8, and 10 pulling up behind me.

  Suddenly I snapped. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I slumped over the steering wheel of my car, sobbing uncontrollably. Just then my cell phone rang. It was Michael.

  “Honey, are you in your car crying?”

  “Yes,” I said, surprised. “How did you know?”

  He said, “Well, you’re on TV—you’re on Channel 11, in fact, I am flipping through the channels and all the major networks have you on. You’re even on CNN.”

  I looked around, stunned. I slunk down in the car seat.

  Michael continued, “Just lie low for a few minutes. I’ll tell you when the cameras move off you and then you can get out. I’ll come and get you.”

  “Fine,” I said hysterically. “I’ll meet you inside the store,” I said in between sobs.

  After I made it into the store, I headed straight for the bakery section. I found that I still had the strength to select a couple of cake doughnuts with chocolate frosting. They were delicious. I felt considerably better. Then I tried some lemon pastries, which were tart without being overpowering. Life was looking up. And then I had to try the little raspberry-filled cookies, which were flaky and juicy. I sighed, contentedly.

  Considering everything that had happened, my trip to the grocery store really turned out pretty well.

  25

  The Wife Who Finds Something Wrong with the Way Her Husband Saved the Life of the Man Choking at the Table Next to Them

  We went out to dinner the other night with the “it’s never quite good enough” wife. She complained about everything and anything, including all of her husband’s past sins. Even after he had nearly performed a miracle at one point during the dinner by resuscitating the gentleman at the table next to us, she could still find something wrong: “Good grief, Kevin, couldn’t you have managed to do the Heimlich without spilling the squash soup all over the table?”

  While attending a wedding the next afternoon, my mind wandered and I began to think how differently history would have been written if Jesus had decided to get married to the “it’s never quite good enough” wife. It may have gone something like this:

  Jesus returns home after a particularly draining day. His wife, Stella, says:

  “Good Lord! Where in God’s name have you been? You smell awful!”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I just raised Lazarus from the dead. It took a lot out of me.”

  “Well, I should think so, especially the spring morning freshness I had worked so hard to get into your clothes. Before you did that, did you consider all the work it would create for me? It’ll take me a month to get that robe smelling decent again. Why did you have to wait until he smelled like a farm animal to raise him from the dead?”

  “Because people were amazed since he had been dead for four days.”

  “Well, if you really wanted to amaze people, why not bring back Socrates or Plato? Those are people who have been dead for four hundred years.”

  “Well, I never thought of that.”

  “Four days is nothing. This is just like that little fiasco the other night when you turned the water into wine at the Shapiro girl’s wedding.”

  “But they couldn’t believe it—the bride’s mother fainted with astonishment.”

  “And do you know why that was?”

  “I thought it was because she had never seen anyone turn water into wine before.”

  “No, it was because they were serving poultry, and you came up with a merlot. Everyone knows you don’t drink red wine with chicken.”

  “Oh.” He looks a little dejected. “Well, I thought it was good.”

  “Quite frankly, sweetheart, the wine was a little dry.”

  “Oh.
” He looks even more dejected.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll do better next time. Maybe something more fruity, more aromatic.”

  “Well, I’ll try,” he says, looking preoccupied.

  “And while we’re on the subject, you know the other day when you had Peter throw out the nets to catch the fish? What did you bring up from the bottom of the Sea of Galilee? Haddock. I couldn’t believe it. Who eats haddock? Maybe next time you could try for some nice trout. I mean, if you’re going to expend all this energy on these ‘miracles’ as you call them, maybe you could go the extra mile and come up with something really good.”

  “Well, I guess you’re right.”

  “It’s also like the episode with the multitudes when you came up with the loaves and fishes. Did you ever consider that maybe those people would need a filet knife, a frying pan, olive oil, plates, a tablecloth, napkins to match, and salt and pepper? And then you completely forgot about any kind of beverage.”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess I did.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll get it right eventually. You just need to give it some time. And frankly, there isn’t a lot of money in turning water into wine or bringing up tons of fish unless you come up with some kind of a marketing plan. And again, as I see it, it’s the quality that would hurt us. There isn’t a lot of demand these days for cheap red wine and haddock.”

  “No, I suppose not. In fact, now that you mention it, maybe I’ll go back into some of that carpentry work I used to do.”

  “That’s a good idea. It’s best not to get into all these other ventures that will never go anywhere.”

  26

  The Woman Who Has Dinner Completed Every Day by Ten a.m.

  For my daughter’s school picnic, we were supposed to deliver our food to the chairman’s house the day prior to the festivities. It was then that I encountered the Woman Who Has Dinner Completed Every Day by Ten a.m.

  “Why didn’t you just put those beans into a Crock-Pot?” the chairman quizzed as she led me into her newly remodeled kitchen.