The pasta maker

August 31, 2005 at 5:33 am (plays well with others, present)

I was racing down to the cafeteria for a much needed caffeine fix when two soccer moms, four kids, two strollers and innumerable huge mommy bags stopped me in my tracks. I stayed politely behind Brunette Soccer Mom (I didn’t know they came in brunette, must be the 2006 version) as she pushed a stroller with one hand and held a toddler’s fist in the other. “Come on sweetheart. That’s good, very good. No, no, come with mommy. We’re walking towards the big door,” she cooed as the girl stumbled down the hall at a snail’s pace while dragging one god-only-knows-what coated hand along our newly painted walls. Between the stroller and the toddler, there was no room for passing on the left, so I was stuck behind the slowest-moving caravan of Petit Bateau, Cheerios and Vera Bradley known to man while Blonde Soccer Mom and Brunette Soccer Mom compared pasta makers. If only I were embellishing even the tiniest bit.

I managed to swallow my annoyance and held the door for Brunette Soccer Mom (no thank you, not that I was surprised) and watched in amazement as the whole damn lot of them stopped right in the doorway. I said excuse me a couple of times and then just slinked my way around them with my arms held out to the side as if to avoid getting any of the suburbia on me. I got my soda (mostly diet pepsi, but I floated root beer on the top inch) and said thank you out loud that I will never, ever, EVER, be those women. My mom would kill me first.

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1 Comment

  1. Erin H. Green said,

    I hate to say it, but the pasta maker post is my favorite. Does that make me very cynical when there were all those other lovely writings? I don’t think so. Just empathetic. Steamboat Springs soccer moms are usually accompanied by all that and their personal trainers.

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