Billy Idol is Sneering at ME. . . .

I may be acutely sensitive to the ironies of motherhood right now; I just finished reading Tom Perotta’s Little Children, and am now working on Having It, and Eating It (average ChickLit a la Bridget Jones’ Diary, but in what i think of as a more well-defined sub-genre of “Suburban Motherhood Tales of Woe”). But, it really doesn’t get much more ironic than cleaning the shit out of your house the day before your son’s second birthday party, fat as a cow at 8+ months pregnant, thinking to yourself how cliched you must look as you push the vacuum back and forth, and then frustratedly jerking the corner of your Pottery Barn seagrass rug out of the vacuum to find your old Billy Idol Rebel Yell record (yep, vinyl, circa 1983) swept under the rug.

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