Say NOTHING

All of this talk of mom-jeans has actually somewhat chagrined me as it's made me look back on all of the things I swore up and down I'd never do. Like let my child play video games. Before I actually HAD a ten-year old kid I was positively horrified by these parents that would let their children sit for hours on end playing with these things. Well, then the Wii came along. That's okay 'cause it's kind of "active", right? Right. Kinda video-game "lite". No harm there. Don't be fooled. It's a gateway game. Like the video game version of pot. Crack the door with that one and you may as well just throw it on open. Oh, Jack's got an X-Box now. In his room. Where there is also a flat-screen TV. Another thing I swore he would never have. So much for me and my convictions. Then there's this dog of mine. Our poor, sweet, recently deceased Lab Coal was so perfect that I was awash with the superiority of it all. He would NEVER steal food from the table or get into the garbage and would not think to stoop so low as to chew up something other than his designated toys. I couldn't believe the behavior some of these people allowed their dogs to engage in. Not that I had anything to do with Coal's perfection. He just popped out that way. Enter Grady. The worst dog ever. The piece de resistance of which is that he now EATS HIS OWN POOP. I remember looking down my nose at a neighbor dog that would eat any poop he could sink his teeth into and actually blamed it on the fact that he was a chocolate Lab. For a very long time I had a theory that whatever makes chocolate Lab's chocolate also made them dumb as a bag of rocks. I've known some pretty fuckin' stupid chocolates. Black and yellow Labs all seem to be reasonably intelligent sorts. Well, Grady, who is black, throws that theory right out the window. He is plenty smart but not so smart that his own waste doesn't appear to be downright tasty. It's pretty gross and must be stopped. Especially when he comes in from a "snack" and gives you a big ol' kiss. So, my holier than thou days with the dog thing have come to a screeching halt. What really scares me is the mom-jean thing. I've sworn up and down that I would never, ever, wear such abominations. Ever. Does this mean I'm destined to wear them? Sweet baby Jesus I hope not. Someone would intervene, right? Well, considering no one's said anything about the drinkin' yet doesn't give me much hope. The mom jeans are a much, much more insidious problem than anything I may imbibe or any ill-advised drunken antics that may or may not have taken place. I've also sworn that I would never drive a mini-van, no matter the convenience. I know people love 'em but they're not for me. Although now that I've said that, I may as well go out and try one on for size. Shit. Beep beep. I am just going to say nothing from now on. Sit quietly in a corner somewhere. Self-preservation or something like that.