Life in the Big City

Hell On Earth

Hell On Earth would be a birthday party at Peter Piper Pizza, 45 minutes from your house, on a cold and rainy January day. At this party the noise level would be so bad you would be practically having seizures. The pizza for which you paid twenty bucks would taste and look like crap. The grown ups would offer you unsolicited night time potty training advice and inquire (twice) as to whether your boyfriend "helps out" with the kids. Those are the grown ups that talk to you. Most of the grown ups wouldn't know you and haven't seen each other for a long time so immediately form a tight circle and talk about their own bad marriages while their husbands take the kids to the horrible arcade-cum-playland-cum-torture chamber. Except for the one child who remains IN HER MOTHER'S LAP while her mother proceeds to recount the tale of her separation and reconciliation, complete with details about marital counseling her husband cheating on her. Eventually, having had enough, the child would crawl away under the table as her mother screamed after her, "Get back here this INSTANT!" Your children would be alternately whiny and irascible. Your baby would be alternately poopy and hungry. Oh, and you would not have had any coffee that day and so be working on a first class headache.

I deserve a medal.