I mean, just having a kid who plays soccer doesn’t make me a soccer mom, right?
I mean, does brushing your teeth make you a dentist?
First of all, I don’t have a minivan. (Smugly) I have a much more environmentally conscious car than that. A Honda Civic. Ok, so it’s not a Prius. When I bought my car they were expensive and hard to get, ok? But anyway, I use a fraction of the gas getting my kid to soccer games than the moms driving SUV’s the size of a bus. Why are they so big anyway – do they have hot tubs in them or something? But I’m not staying on message here.
Second, my life does not revolve around soccer. Just because I drive my kid to practice and to games and sit around with the other moms, well, some of the other moms, the ones who have post graduate degrees from superior educational institutions. Because the rest of them, well, it’s not like I have a whole lot of common with them, like the skinny one with the boob job and the designer jeans. (Sniffily) It’s not like you really need an advanced degree to drive in Los Angeles traffic, dig to the bottom of the laundry hamper to find missing soccer socks, and deal with an obnoxious 12-year-old, but it leaves you something to fall back on of the soccer thing doesn’t work out.
Third, oh, by the way, I can say “third” in four languages. I just thought you might want to know that. So, third, I don’t even know the rules of soccer. Of course, everyone knows that they run around kicking a ball, and then they have to kick it into each other’s net. And occasionally they get kind of mashed up together, and somebody comes limping off the field, but it’s all part of the game, so no one gets excited. I figure the coach knows where the nearest emergency room is. What else is there to know about soccer that really matters?
Just so you know, I have a life. A rich and varied life. Full of interesting people, and culture, and music, and, and, and, depression. But hey, that’s something else that totally disqualifies me from being a soccer mom. I’m not perky. Isn’t perky annoying to just about everyone? I’ll leave that to the mom with the boob job.
You know, I’d really like to tell you about the incredible book I’m reading about brain research, but I have to go. Practice is in 30 minutes, and my kid is screaming at me that he can’t find his soccer socks. (Yelling, over the shoulder) I don’t know where your socks are! They are where you put them! We have to go in five minutes!