|No one wants to sit with us at snack time.|
In my defense, I signed up for this class because it takes place at one of the preschools we were considering for the Muffin Man. This is a very well-respected school. It also happens to be within walking distance of our house, which I'm always a fan of, as I have these fantasies of being able to stroll Noah to and from school every day like I live in some sort of small, Norman Rockwell-esque town instead of in the land of cement and broken dreams which constitutes my reality. Anywho, according to the word on the neighborhood street, it's vital to sign up for the Mommy and Me in order to even be considered for one of the valuable preschool spots at this institute of lower learning. Hey, I'm willing to try anything once (except for some of those positions in the Karma Sutra that no human should be able to do) so I signed Noah up, sent in my check, and looked forward to pleasant afternoons spent bonding with other parents over snack time Goldfish crackers and endless rounds of Row, row, row your boat. Well. This is the worst mommy and me class ever. Really. I didn't think they could get crappier than the original VIP class, but low and behold it is entirely possible to pay a ridiculous sum of money for your child to attend a class once a week that is terrible. The other parents aren't friendly, the activities are ridiculous, and Noah wants nothing to do with any of this. They do, however, serve Goldfish crackers at snack time which is the only thing this group has going for it, since I refuse to buy that crap for consumption at home.
Okay, so the class sucks, fine. I was willing to give it one more try just to ensure that my son received a decent shot at one of the 3 available spaces in the class of 2031, but here's the kicker: I WASN'T INVITED BACK. Seriously. I wasn't even given the option to sign up for the next session (I asked and was firmly told "no"). Yes, you read that right. I was rejected from possibly the worst Mommy and Me class in the entire city of Los Angeles. Honestly, all I can do is laugh. I assume their intention was to make me feel bad about myself, but I'm going to remind you here, friends, that I AM 36 YEARS OLD; not 26 or 16 or even six, when one is more apt to put up with just this kind of bullsh*t. Mama is old and tired and she just don't play that anymore. I guess I've finally had enough therapy that I no longer spend my life attempting to join clubs that don't want me as a member. On the plus side, I'll be happy to spend that $250 preschool application fee on something more practical, like all the toilet paper I plan to throw into their trees on Halloween right after I get wasted, pee in the school's bushes, and yell "screw you!" from my car window while blaring The Doors. Hey, I've matured, but not that much.