...simply have no sense of humor. Or, this is another case where I don't seem to get along with other women. I attended a "mommy's night out" there a while ago which was quite...lovely. It was foot baths and scented candles and crudite. I say lovely in a tone that is confused, questioning and a titch snarly. Everyone was kind. Too kind. Everyone was supportive too. Too, too supportive. Ok, let me put it this way: when I chimed in my two cents on the "this is what my baby is like" chit-chat, I called my baby an asshole. No one laughed.
Come on! My favorite show of all time is Sex and the City. There is a great scene where Samantha listens to Miranda go on about her baby Brady and then she exclaims "Well that baby sounds like an asshole!". Clear. Concise. My kinda gal. I've used the reference before and gotten a laugh! So my reference to Sex was lost there, but at the least the mere juxtaposition of baby and asshole should conjure a giggle? Nada. Cue crickets. I was met with stone-faced silence and a few wide-eyed disbeliefs. Then: too much support.
"There, there" they said, patting me on the shoulder. "Surely he is not. He is beautiful! He is so sweet! He is a gift from heaven!". An image of that awful intern who atted me on the shoulder day 2 in the hospital when I was crying about my baby being hooked up to machines-and she mentioned to my husband in a hushed whisper the dreaded "postpartum" shot to mind. This sent me backtracking and red-faced, explaining my joke...and if you have to explain a punchline-blah. The weird thing is, I was looking for support...just not that kind. I was out for the first time in ages without a diaper bag slung over my shoulders, a spit-up stain down my front, a crusty-dried drool on my cheek or a baby on my hip. My stomach was sucked in, standing tall and wearing an underwire bra. And there was wine! I just wanted a laugh.
Speaking of the wine...and the laugh: later still questing for the guffaws I poured myself the first glass of red. I correct myself: a HALF glass. A few sips really. And I indulged in a little hyperbole:
"It's been so long since I had a glass of wine ladies that I may be a cheap date again! It'll be the good ol' college days again! Before you know it I'll be taking off my top and dancing on the dining room table-who's joining me?"
That did get a few chuckles-I'm sure because most of them could remember being there. But then came the moment I realized no one at the party "got me". Basically when I was leaving-so you can imagine how many more jokes I told that would earn me this treatment:
Host: "All joking aside now, are you really ok to drive home?" As she kindly and supportively stroked my arm.
Oh my god. I started stammering "I'm fine! No really...I was ONLY JOKING! Really! I only had a few sips!" All of this just made me sound like a drunk...so I tried to cover it up by talking faster, causing me to stumble over my words...which made me turn red and sweaty, so I just tried to leave quickly, opening the door the wrong way and awkwardly stumble down the walk.
I bet now you are laughing. But the mommies weren't. I can still hear the hushed whispers from here. And feel the hot tears that streaked my cheeks on the drive home. It's not my feelings that were hurt. Just my sense of humor. It needs a mommy-friend.