February 1, 2012

Dear Babies,

I saw this thing about football satisfying our primal needs on 60 Minutes, or maybe it was on the Today Show, right after a 15 minute segment (which is a really long time!) of Ann Curry and Jonah Hill going back and forth saying how humble Brad Pitt is, to Brad Pitt (great television!).

Food, the voiceover said during b-roll of a smorgasbord at a tailgate, sex, showing cheerleaders, and what I found most interesting, violence, comparing going back to the Roman gladiator days. While I love me some tailgates, and I was the one shaking my thing on the sidelines, watching people slam into each other is not for me. (If you ever want me to leave a room, put on a boxing match, I literally cannot look.) If we’re going primal, in a world divided into hunters and gatherers, then sign me up for that gathering committee, please. (Maybe there’s a sub committee where we deliver cupcakes for peoples birthdays?)

Today I’m going shopping for our upcoming beach vacation. What wonderful things will I gather? A new bathing suit? Sandals? Some sort of featherweight “beach sweater” or muumuu-like cover up I’ll hold up at the store and say wow, won’t this be great for when it gets cool by the water, then will get home and look at and realize it’s not transporting but looks like a dry-cleaning bag and will probably never ever wear? (Thanks, Anthropologie!)

Your father grunts and hollers and paces when watching football. He’s a hunter. He must do his thing.

(As with Ann Curry and Jonah Hill, and anyone in the presence of greatness, we must fawn…we must bow…)

I’m about to go out and buy a bunch of stuff today. When the credit card bill comes in I will remind your father, I’m a gatherer, I must do mine.



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