Okay, ladies. You know I love having you over for Mommy and Me Book Club—our mash-up last week of The Very Hungry Caterpillar and The Jungle was both inspired and unnerving. But could I also offer some constructive criticism? As you can see on this strategically placed throw pillow, we have three simple rules in my house: Live, Laugh, Love. Now, maybe the fact that it’s an embroidered pillow had some of you thinking, “What an earnest and loving way to mark one’s domicile as a safe place.” But make no mistake: I said they were rules. Rules are meant to be followed, and I don’t exactly see anyone following them. So let me reiterate one last fucking time:
LIVE.
LAUGH.
LOVE.
END OF FUCKING LIST.
…Did I stutter?
Before you do anything, I need you to ask yourself: Am I living, laughing, or loving? And if not, then TELL ME, why did I get it stitched in this delightful fucking throw pillow? Was it for my own fucking amusement? Why did I hand-stencil it on the walls of my kitchen? Is it so you could come in my house and disrespect it with your insincere giggles and half-assed affections? When you’re in Mama’s house, you can FUCK your giggles and side-smiles. Straight up guffaws or FUCKING SILENCE. Laugh ‘til you puke or GET THE FUCK OUT.
When you’re in MY house, don’t you dare condescend to me with your half-assed, “Oh, this cheese tray is delightful” bullshit. Either this cheese is your soul mate or it’s NOTHING.
You say you LIKE what I’ve done with the molding, Hannah? Hannah, I will bury you. This molding is the highest form of pleasure you will ever know or I’ll see you the fuck out the door. Do you see “LIKE” on that pillow? Open your fucking eyeballs.
Here’s a test! Beth, your turn to choose a game: Backgammon, Crazy 8’s, or euchre? Let me CUT YOU OFF, because unless you’re about to say MAHJONG, then you’re MAH-FUCKING-WRONG. When’s the last time any of you bitches really felt alive? Put the pedal to the fucking metal, because it’s time to steal some motherfucking tiles. Can you feel that? That’s living. Nothing can stop us now. We’re gonna climb up on the roof, have a big gay orgy, and laugh at the fucking moon, because THESE FUCKING THROW PILLOWS TOLD US TO.
Also, for next week, I need to talk to some of you. I’ve noticed you’ve been working like you do need the money, loving like you have been hurt, and dancing like someone is watching, and that shit needs to end now.
