But Call Me Betsy

I want to write a short story where the title is "She Got Fat." Start with that title and the first few sentences, something like, "Somewhere along the way, Marjorie had gotten fat. It hadn't happened all at once, but slowly, over the course of several years and two babies and however many Boston Cremes from Dunkin Donuts." Or maybe it's not about Marjorie, but it's about that phenomenon that occurs almost exclusively on Facebook now where you connect with friends from high school or college or wherever and you haven't seen them in ten or fifteen years, and the first thing you think is, Oh, my God, she got fat .  And also, Oh, my God, she got old . And "she got fat" and "she got old" can't be happening to me, because even though others might be balloon up around the face and getting this crusty middle age look, I can't possibly be among them because I'm still about seventeen years old. RIGHT? In the olden days befo...

Blogger allows you to look at the next blog on the list and I had some time to kill yesterday after work and so I did that and realized anew that there are a hell of a lot of mommy blogs out there. Like, 90 percent of the blogs I saw were mommy blogs. And they were kind of sad mommy blogs, where the writer was this woman who's about 26 and married to her college sweetheart, who has a crew cut. Both are attractive, and you can see that she was probably a popular girl in high school, and the guy is handsome in this new car salesman way and you can also see how he will start to get heavier and heavier and his neck will thicken with time until he will become this formerly handsome guy. And they are on their first kid, a boy named Caleb and in every baby picture, Caleb's nose is slightly running, but they are posed in front of their new house and everything is okay. And each post is about how great everything is--how they had an Easter egg hunt and Caleb found the blue egg, and ...