My two year old is standing on a stool playing with the light switches and he gives a half-hearted “ahhh!” every time the constructions workers tearing up the sidewalk outside make an especially loud noise. It’s raining a lot today, which I admit I love, being the displaced Oregonian that I am, but it’s too bad it’s raining just at this moment because when I gave the two year old a hug and caught a whiff of his poopy diaper it smelled so bad I had to walk in the other room to keep from throwing up. So now I’m sitting in the other room while he happily, poopily, plays with the light switches and I’m typing and peeking out the window at our wet deck kind of wishing it wasn’t raining so I could take him outside to change him instead of opening up a stink bomb inside the house. And, bonus, if I change him outside and still throw up at least, ya know, it’d be outside.
I’m 30 years old. I have a husband and two kids and a pretty chill, normal life. It’s probably time for me to give up on popularity. But here’s the thing–I had a taste of it in the past (back when I was running my business) and it’s not even so much the cool factor that I miss as much as the FREE STUFF. Now let’s be real, I’ve never been anywhere near super cool. It’s not like some random person on the street would have any idea who I am and, really, I’d prefer to keep it that way. I have no desire to be a Kardashian or come out with my own line of lip products or host my own talk show or ever be in People magazine. Unless they come out with a special issue on super boring normal people who have never cheated on their husbands and still haven’t lost the baby weight and whose greatest fashion achievement is finding off-brand slip-on sneakers that are comfortable and cute and under $20*. Then I could basically be on the cover. No, what I’m after is the free stuff.