3.5 Stars
A few months ago my friend Sarah’s review of How To Party With An Infant popped up on my feed. Sarah’s one of those people who doesn’t say a whole lot, so when she does I try to listen – and that’s just what I did here. After an infinite wait for a library copy, I discovered that the author of this book was also the author of The Descendants, which in case you aren’t familiar, gave us this gem in the field of giffery . . . .
Once again this was a book that really shouldn’t have worked for me at all. How To Party With An Infant was about a woman who found herself knocked up by a dude who turned out to be engaged to someone else. Although single, our leading lady Mele manages to be a stay-at-home mom due to writing a fairly successful foodie type of blog and is able to afford a lifestyle in San Francisco that includes being a member of a play group. Seriously???? People do this?????
Mele decides to try and find a little of her former self-worth by submitting an application to a local recipe contest in hopes of winning a book deal. Sounds horrible, right? Not to mention this bitch is soooooooo not like me. I am not hip. I live in flyover country. I am married to my college sweetheart and my only pregnancy scare was what made us finally start thinking about having kids after being married for years. I write a blog, but it pays me in pennies and I have to go to a real turd of a 9 to 5er every day in order to pay the bills. And most importantly, the idea of paying a membership fee for me to hang out with other parents and their demon offspring makes me want to commit hara-kiri.
So what happened???? Well, to be real blunt about it – THIS . . . . .
Holy fuckface, all thoughts disappeared. She placed a strip on my (God I hate this word) labia and pulled – rip! – and holy Whitney Houston I as angry at this woman. I wanted a retro bush to be “in” so she’d be shit out of a job!
That was the equivalent of a “you had me at hello” moment. My feelings were solidified with . . . .
I swear motherhood leads to alcoholism. I never used to drink like this.
Along with . . . .
Caillou (such a pussy of a boy).
^^^^Is she right or is she right???
By the time we got around to this part about reading fairytales to her daughter . . . .
In regard to the prince whisking off these chicks with their shy laughter and porn bodies, I asked: “How does she know she’ll even like him? They never spoke to each other. He could be a total loser. He could be like, ‘Hi, wanna ride my horse.’”
“I want to ride his horse,” [Ellie the daughter] said.
I decided if my husband ever leaves me I need to track down Mele and make her my wife . . . and I also might have pee laughed a little.
If you’re the type of mother who occasionally asks yourself . . . .
Or dreads the day your tiny human will begin to speak because it means stories like this can no longer be read at bedtime . . . . .
This might be the book for you.
One thing we can alllllllllllllllll be sure of. We’re a better mother than at least one person . . .
Once again this was a book that really shouldn’t have worked for me at all. How To Party With An Infant was about a woman who found herself knocked up by a dude who turned out to be engaged to someone else. Although single, our leading lady Mele manages to be a stay-at-home mom due to writing a fairly successful foodie type of blog and is able to afford a lifestyle in San Francisco that includes being a member of a play group. Seriously???? People do this?????
Mele decides to try and find a little of her former self-worth by submitting an application to a local recipe contest in hopes of winning a book deal. Sounds horrible, right? Not to mention this bitch is soooooooo not like me. I am not hip. I live in flyover country. I am married to my college sweetheart and my only pregnancy scare was what made us finally start thinking about having kids after being married for years. I write a blog, but it pays me in pennies and I have to go to a real turd of a 9 to 5er every day in order to pay the bills. And most importantly, the idea of paying a membership fee for me to hang out with other parents and their demon offspring makes me want to commit hara-kiri.
So what happened???? Well, to be real blunt about it – THIS . . . . .
Holy fuckface, all thoughts disappeared. She placed a strip on my (God I hate this word) labia and pulled – rip! – and holy Whitney Houston I as angry at this woman. I wanted a retro bush to be “in” so she’d be shit out of a job!
That was the equivalent of a “you had me at hello” moment. My feelings were solidified with . . . .
I swear motherhood leads to alcoholism. I never used to drink like this.
Along with . . . .
Caillou (such a pussy of a boy).
^^^^Is she right or is she right???
By the time we got around to this part about reading fairytales to her daughter . . . .
In regard to the prince whisking off these chicks with their shy laughter and porn bodies, I asked: “How does she know she’ll even like him? They never spoke to each other. He could be a total loser. He could be like, ‘Hi, wanna ride my horse.’”
“I want to ride his horse,” [Ellie the daughter] said.
I decided if my husband ever leaves me I need to track down Mele and make her my wife . . . and I also might have pee laughed a little.
If you’re the type of mother who occasionally asks yourself . . . .
Or dreads the day your tiny human will begin to speak because it means stories like this can no longer be read at bedtime . . . . .
This might be the book for you.
One thing we can alllllllllllllllll be sure of. We’re a better mother than at least one person . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment