Madonna, PInk Work Boots and the Laundry Chute

The U.S. has been all up in arms about Madonna adopting a child from Malawi. Like we don't have more pressing issues to worry about. I want to ask the same people that made this headline news, "Can you tell me who just ran for goovernor of your state?" and then wait while I listened to the silence that would surely ensue. I watched the news special where they interviewed her. It was said to me, "What does she know about raising a black male?" My answer? "Probably just as much as the orphanage where his father had left him."
"But Still--"
"You could always adopt. There are lots of families in African countries and Haiti that are leaving their children in orphanages because they can't feed them. "
No comment.
I really don't have a problem with what Madonna chose to do. What I do have a problem with is that she went all the way to Africa to do it.
Now, don't get me wrong, I understand that there are many African countries where children need help. But I also understand there there are some that need help right here on American soil. It was probably more newsworthy for her to go to another continent.
In this country, fourty percent of children in foster care are African American. Think about that. And Madonna went to Africa, but at least she did something. There are those who criticize her choice yet we don't see them trying to adopt anyone, across town or across the world. Step up, then speak out.

Enough of that.

On lighter note, I got an interesting email the other day. It was from someone at ABC. They read my blog and wanted to know if I would consider being on Wife Swap. We have watched the show many times. Its the one where the woman either comes home looking like she is a stone cold wierdo or she is a saint and ends up being more appreciated by the ungrateful slug she left at home. Question is, which woman would I be? Hmmm. I mighta done it. I could use a break. It would be a vacation.
Then they told me I couldn't pick the family I swapped with. Just who would I give to my family, and who would I pick for myself? You bet I would pick one with a hunky husband with chocolate brown skin that could appreciate a good pair of shoes on a woman. He would have yoga arms, a lean midsection and strong thighs. Dreadlocks are acceptable,as long as they are well maintained. Oh yeah, and he would have to be okay with me holding the TV remote occasionally.

I discussed it with my family. My oldest daughter begged me and begged me to try it. "Mom, the new mom would probably let me write on the wall. Or I wouldn't have a bedtime."

She might, but she might also only dress you at Walmart (forget that Juicy sweatshirt you want) and allow only one pair of shoes. The onews you where with your school uniform. I assure you the shoes would not be pink or purple as you requested. Or they might not cook at all, and believe me you would get tired of Macaroni and Cheese if that was all you had to eat 5 out of 7 nights a week. You bet your I-pod shuffle you would be scrounging for vegetables.

The youngest one went along with the flow because it looked like fun. Her bigger sister was hanging on around my neck, swinging back and forth like a wayward necktie in a 1970's diso as she begged me to give it serious consideration. That one would change her tune the minute the new mom told her to get over it when her sister picked on her instead of commisserating just to make her feel better. And custom-shaped pankcakes for everyone on Sunday morning? Forgetaboutit. God forbid you would have to eat a round pancake instead of one shaped like a Gingerbread woman. Worse yet, she might make you one shaped like a Gingerbread man! Not to mention that her little heart would be broken when the new mom informed that her bacon doesn't come from an animal that goes "Gobble-gobble" and milk comes from the Chik-fil-A billboard cow rather than miraculously produced from a bean with a multitude of uses.

The babysitter- she didn't say no, she said, "Hell no." She was worried that they would get some wierdo who didn't clean (not that I do, don't get it twisted), or worse yet, they would mke her leave. They always make babysitters, nannies, help and grandparents leave. Time off. She claims she would come back to watch because it was sure to be hilarious. She wasn't going anywhere, she assured me, she belongs here. Babysitter gets a raise.

Now, we get to my spouse. He said, "Of course you told them no." He wouldn't participate. Period. Wouldn't want America to see the inside of his life. Who would really? For him it would take a lot more than what they are offering. He's the pensive kind, prone to few words. I'm sure many of my friends think he doesn't talk at all, or at least he only talks to me. They'd probably swap me with a wife who talked ALL the time (instead of one who writes all the time), and he would end up locking himself in the TV room so he could catch a break.

Truth is, I can't imagine who my opposite would be or where they would send me. I've lived everywhere but in a trailer, so that is certainly where I"d go. To a trailer park in West Virginia (no offense to West Virgnina Trailer park inhabitants) where they have never seen a black person much less a dreadlock, in a city where the only anchor store in the almost non-existent mall would be JC penny and not Neiman Marcus (my favorite), and there is no Satellite TV or Starbucks. I would have to do without Nip/Tuck (which I officially gave up when they made the doctor's wife sleep with the midget), and eat red meat and pork three times a day for the entire time. And shoes, forget it, I would be relegated to Walmart brand work boots.

The new husband would spit his tobacco on the floor and balk when he found out the truth--Yes, they would get custom breakfast on Sunday, but those work shirts, they gotta go to the cleaners because I don't iron. I have an iron, normally reserved for guests, but how, exactly, do I make it work? And vaccum? Uh uh. I gave that up about 10 years ago when I broke my toe on one while I was vacuuming trying to get ready for a holiday party. Good thing I ralized the toe was broken before it had time to swell up, I bandaged my foot with the Guiseepe Zannotti's I planned to wear to the party and hobbled through it, while I medicated with the holiday punch. Don't let it ever been said I'm not a trooper. It hurt like hell but it sure looked damn good. What, trailers don't have dishwashers? Well, how do the dishes get clean? I rub them with what? A rag? You're shitting me, right?
And the house, it has to be clean, so Merry Maids would gain a new client.
I think I would make it through the week. The new mom would be happy when she returned. Her husband would take her to dinner at least once a month, to a place with actual waiters, and her kids would be respectful or locked in the closet and she wouldn;t have to home school them anymore.
My kids, they would learn about actual CHORES. Not the piddly ones they have, like feeding the cat and dog and clearing the table. Or the hardest one the big girl has, pushing the "start" button on the dishwasher. They would learn aboout real chores like chopping their own fireplace wood. I mean, why buy it? We have a back yard full of trees. Or they might discover that "doing your laundry" means actually washing the clothes as opposed to just throwing them down the laundry chute, and no, the cat doesn't belong in there at all.
I have just one question--Do those work books come in pink?


Anonymous said…
You should know that Walmart Workboots do come in pink and I think you could do it, especially since West Virginia is the "Open for Business" state and I bet you would not have to go far for starbucks and dirty martinis. With enough dirty martinis in you, you could probably square dance with the best of them! LOL
Anonymous said…

Actually, I think they send you out to a house out in the swamplands, maybe in sunny Florida. Your new hubby will expect you to wade into the water to get the laundry off the line after you hand wash it was soap (they kind that comes in one of those solid bars I think you have heard people talk about). You'd come in, take off your rubber boots and slip on some pink puffy slippers as you go to the kitchen and filet the catch of the day for dinner which must be battered and deep fried along with those round things called potatoes (that's what french fries come from). Maybe you can pluck some collard greens too because you'll insist on a veggie.

You might have to help Jethro with his homework, and help Bo shag flies at baseball practice, and teach little JaQuan why he must chew with his mouth closed and retrieve things from his nose in the bathroom rather than the dinner table.

Your new set of girlfriends will drink beer right from the bottle (you really can do that, you know), and complain about the way too skinny women on Desperate Housewives and how you all wished you could have someone trim your lawn (read deeply into that one).

You'd come back with a new love for natural water, a greater respect for Judge Judy, a new perspective on how to fry anyting and everything and that pets shouldn't be hung out to dry on the clothesline.

Ah, what you will miss by declining.

del Zorro
Nina Foxx said…
OH MY GOD! This is too funny. I'm going to allow it although I am the only funny person here. Dis my house, capisci?
I'd probably run screaming through the Everglades. Fried Food? You mean you can make it yourself? I thought it only came thorugh a drive through window. Well, I never! How do you get that crusty stiff all over it, huh? And I thought fish came that way. I gotta take the guts out, noooo, nooo, don't make me make the sweet liitle pesces into pescado. And how will I know which ones are collards without the supermarket tag? See, I thought all the surprises of life were gone, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and now you are telling me they still make clotheslines. Well, damn. What about the neighborhood covenants and restrictions? What kind of swamp trailer park is this anyway?

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