apply liberally

so it recently was brought to my attention that if i wanted to get my toddler into a part-time day care program SEVEN MONTHS FROM NOW, i needed to apply, like, last year. my kid would, at this late date, be automatically placed on the waiting list.

that's right: if i wanted to get my child into a face-painting drum-circle finger-puppet virus-swapping two-day-a-week junior-statesman toddler-scrum in september, i needed to pay FIFTY DOLLARS to APPLY for the privilege ... two months ago.

so i stopped by my local nursery school that my local listserv lionizes and i said "i know i'm a bit late, but can i get an application for september's part-time two-year-old day care?" and the lady looked at me with withering scorn and said "yes. we know your kind. you are late. here is the application. we will waive the fee." not spoken: "we will waive the fee because once your child's name is known to us you will be DEAD TO THE ENTIRE CHILD-CARE COMMUNITY IN THE TRI-STATE AREA. never will your little girl find professional teaching. may she rot in hell for having you as a parent."

i took the application and thanked her. i folded it in half, flinching at the knowledge that the crease-mark in the paper would even further dampen my child's chance at landing a bottom-feeder's shot at the last slot on the waiting b-list. and then i went on my merry way.

tonight mrs. nice guy and i had a nice laugh together filling out our child's day care application, the humiliating form we submitted in search of adequate care FOR A TWO-YEAR-OLD just TWO HALF-DAYS A WEEK. here is what we would have preferred to have answered. i swear to you these are the actual questions (but, for the more-literal minded among you, not the actual answers) on the application for day care we just filled out for an ALMOST-TWO YEAR OLD:

• What do you enjoy most about your child? The way she looks in fishnets. Also: the fact that she now knows how to operate a bottle-opener. HIGH FIVE!
• What concerns you most about your child? Where to begin! She's so short, it's totally weird. I mean she looks like a tiny little grown-up, but she's kind of a spaz. Like, enough with the pants-crapping already! She's had two years to figure out that poop stinks. Right? Also ... this is between you and me, but I am not entirely convinced she's mine. Like, you should see the way she dances whenever Hall & Oates is on the box. I mean, come on, "Private eyes are watching you?!?!?" Two words: Not My Kid.
• What preschool program or group experience (if any) has your child previously attended? I bring her to all my Crank Anonymous sessions. Does that count?
• Preferences of classmates you would have in your child's class for September? Oh that's easy: No Jews.
• Is your child toilet trained? She's trained to sit quietly and watch daddy conduct his affairs, if that's what you mean!
• Does your child dress independently? This is an interesting question. Independently of what? Of the current mode? I'd say she does! This was Fashion Week in NYC, in case you hadn't noticed, and NOT ONCE did she demand a little more Marc Jacobs in her style section. Like, WTF? OK, fine, she exhibited a little preference for Prouenza Schouler, but I mean, how common! They have a line at Target, for Christ's sake! And I like Alice Temperley as much as the next Babyshambles douche, but FUCK!, this is my child we're talking about, after all! All I'm saying is, don't be surprised if you see her in some Isabel Toledo "couture haberdashery" Anne Klein shit come autumn, bitches!
• Does your child receive any special services, i.e., occupational therapy? Oh yes, thank you for asking! The "job of living" requires so much for our child. Like, for example, making sure you feel sorry enough for her to accept her into your program despite the lateness of this application. There's an extra C-spot in it for you!
• Toys or books your child enjoys: Hmm, do the toys she finds under mommy's side of the bed that make a buzzing noise and wiggle all funny count?
• Other comments: Have you ever had that dream where you really have to go to the bathroom and you're in this public space and all your high-school classmates are there and you're naked and running late for your math final (for which you are totally unprepared), so you sprint to the nearest toilet but it's clogged with shit and everyone's looking at you and you start shrinking and they all become laughing giants and you realize that one of them is your own daughter and suddenly you're the one who's wearing a diaper? Man, I have that dream all the time. Any idea what it means?

oh who am i kidding? i love "private eyes." come here, oates, snuggle up and tickle me with that gorgeous 'stache.