Thursday, April 8, 2010

Ask Lydia and Kate! (#1)

Hello Mommies!  Lately, people have been asking us our advice on stuff.  Which is funny because we are just a couple of jackholes with a blog and don't actually know anything useful.  But we're delighted that you want to ask us stuff.  And yes, the following letters are 100% real.


Dear Kate and Lydia (or is it Lydia and Kate--seriously, which one of you is the boss? We all want to know),

First, a crazy fan rant. I love your blog. I read it every morning while I'm at work and not doing work. I'm getting paid to read your blog. Just a fair warning, I'm pretty sure my company is going to put your blog on its internet ban list. Anyway, it's my favorite way to start my day. And I would read it for free, honest, but hey what the hell.

Second, a little exposition. I am mother of two daughters, ages 3 and 2 (or is it 2 and 3--seriously, which one is the boss?), and my husband is a stay-at-home dad, which is just a nice, new-age feminist way of saying he is unemployed and emasculated. Just kidding, he loves it. Besides, his unemployment has freed me to pursue my childhood dream career as a school secretary.

Third, a rant. My best friend (she once wrote you about a Harley Davidson ring she got for Christmas, so you guys go waaaaay back), and I love our children very much. But, we are uber-paranoid that they will live with us FOREVER. What if they never grow up? What if, in 2024, all of our children get pregnant, so we have their children AND their boyfriends AND their boyfriends other girlfriends AND their boyfriends other girlfriend's parents living with us?! I mean, I'm sorry, but our respective single-wides just are not that big! Please advise.

Dear J,

Wow.  Well, first we want to say that you are not crazy.  Because this particular version of the future is truly horrifying. 

So here's what we think you should do.  First, build a time machine.  You might need to get your hands on a 1985 Delorean.  Or Michael J. Fox in a puffy vest.  And also one of these things - called a "flux capacitor".  (Try Home Depot, Libyan terrorists, or, failing that, eBay).  Then, go into the future and see what happens. 

Have your worst fears come to fruition?  Are all those people living in your single-wide?  Is it really that bad?  Have you maybe expanded to a double-wide due to fire regulations? Is your daughter's boyfriend's other girlfriend's mother actually a really good cook?  Are the babies good sleepers?  Do any of the boyfriend's ex-girlfriends also have kids that live with you?  We're just saying - these are kind of important things to find out.  It might not be that bad.  And there's always the possibility you could leverage your situation into a lucrative TLC reality show.

Also, out of curiousity - are you still a school secretary? If so, does future you look like the one from Grease? Because she was awesome and got to play the xylophone every day and there ain't nothing wrong with that.

So if the future is as bad as you fear and you don't want to live there - here's what to do next.  Go back in time to last Saturday night at 8:05 pm and write down the winning Powerball numbers.  Then get back in the time machine and set it to November 5, 1955 a few minutes before the drawing so you can buy a winning ticket.  Now, when you win - tell no one.  That's really important.   Just hide that money until your daughters come home pregnant with their boyfriends and entourages of awfulness.  Then be all like: "You want to live at home?  You mean here? Well of course, this is your home!"

Then pack your sh*t, grab your houseboy husband and head for your new luxury digs in Tahiti.  Just don't tell your offspring where you're going.  And don't ever come back.  Ever.  This last step is critical:  Destroy the time machine.  Portal closed and problem solved!

Next time, could you send us something a little harder?  Also, you're welcome.

xo, Lydia and Kate

P.S.  We realize the first question is a trick one to see if we are really who we say we are.  Neither of us is boss. We haven't been the boss of anything but the Diaper Genie since we spawned our first offspring.  So, there's another mystery solved.  You're welcome.  Again.

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