Tuesday, December 11, 2018
Becoming by Michelle Obama
It is only December 11, and I have already had it with Christmas music. If I hear the sound of sleigh bells one more time - I shit you not - I will stick pencils in my ear drums. My kids keep telling me I have to get out more, but every time I so much as get into someone's car, I am assaulted by the most saccharine, frivolous musical insults known to man. It is quite a mixed message. Yesterday, on our coffee date, it was so bad that I had no choice but to demand that my daughter stop the car so I could get out and walk the rest of the way to the coffee shop. I recognize that the gesture was slightly juvenile, but I think I made my point. I can guarantee you that Michelle never makes Barack listen to this shit. And vice versa. And when Eleanor was alive, god bless her, she knew how to embrace the holiday season with a little more subtlety and grace than people seem to be able to these days. We observed a variety of holidays in our house, what with our different backgrounds, and we managed to take the best of each and deliver the message of the season to our children without all this materialism, gaudiness, and god damn terrible music that seem to define them today. As I walked down the hill toward the coffee shop yesterday, I was thinking about those holidays when our kids were young. They were good times, simpler times maybe - at least in my memory they were. When I got to the bottom, I was in a good mood, partly from those memories and partly from having given my daughter the business a little bit. And we had a nice time. Short-lived, however, because she had to put me in my place and made me walk back up the hill to the car! And believe me, my back is paying for it today. Thanks Obama.