the conversations we have 'round here (or ... i need a chaperone, part deux)
hello, i'm mr nice guy. my computer died again. how are you?
actually, never mind. i don't care. mostly, i am just here to relay this conversation i had last night (and i would have posted it last night if a certain SOMEONE'S computer hadn't died a certain last night). anyway, it's not all that interesting, but since the last conversation i had with a mom struck a such nerve, maybe this one does a little too.
the setup: there is a record store directly around the corner from my house. (do you have ANY IDEA how threatening to my child's college fund this is? the fact that there is a record store directly around the corner from my home means my baby squidgirl must become an indentured servant, slaving over filthy dishes for years to pay off my frivolous Bohannon and Ray Bryant purchases until she pays for harvard. or yale. whishever.)
so there i am, wearing my child around my neck like the albatross she isn't, flipping through the "new arrivals" LP section when who should walk by but my neighbor (not my upstairs stylie-except-for-her-exersaucer-which-i-previously-misspelled-french neighbor, but my hitherto unmentioned downstairs neighbor, who i like quite a bit, a very nice mother of two boys, aged 2 and 4 ... my goodness but they are vocal in their batman enthusiasm). she and i make eye-contact as she passes the store:
downstairs neighbor: HI MR AND BABY NICE GUY!
mr nice guy: hello, nice downstairs neighborlady. where are you going with your laptop and without your boys at this hour?
downstairs neighbor: to ozzie's [a large and lovely neighborhood coffee shop that serves inexcusably bad coffee and charges SIX DOLLARS A DAY to access their wi-fi] to do some writing.
mr nice guy: you're in good company. you know who writes there on occasion? jonathan safran foer. i've seen him. apparently his $7 million brownstone isn't good enough.
downstairs neighbor: i've heard that. anyway. how is the baby? is she sleeping through the night?
mr nice guy: uh? um, she was, but she stopped. she wakes up at 11 and again at 4. it's annoying, but i'm not the one with boobs, so i can't complain too much.
downstairs neighbor: look at us! every time i have a conversation these days it's only about two things: sleep cycles or schools. gosh! i'm so sick of it. can't we talk about anything else?!
mr nice guy: WHAT!?? YOU STARTED IT! read the transcript! FUCK!
yeah, so. this is where i live -- every potentially good conversation veers into babyland and then hypercorrects back into schizo self-recrimination. anyone want to buy me a one-way ticket to topeka?