with Karli Larson
The transition from stay-at-home mom to divorced-and-working-full-time mom can be challenging, and sometimes very lonely. Throw in a few cats, an ancient dog and one very brave boyfriend, and life gets downright crazy. Join me as I talk through my thoughts and struggles, my miscalculations and my triumphs. We're in this together, you and I.
When I'm not writing here you can find me over at work on the TisBest Philanthropy blog.
“WHAT?!?” I shriek.
In the rear view mirror, I catch her baffled what-did-I-do-now expression. “A BOARD GAME. Based on my WHORE NOVEL,” she enunciates. “WHAT?”
“What the heck kind of book are you reading? A WHORE novel? In fifth grade?”
“Yeah,” she says. “What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s a whore novel?” asks Daughter #2.
“It’s a book about scary stuff,” says Daughter #1, perplexed. “I thought it would make a cool board game.”
It dawns on me, finally, that she is not, in fact, creating a game about prostitutes.
“OH,” I say. “A HOR-ROR novel.” I crack up. I can’t breathe, I am laughing so hard.
“Yeah,” she says. “A whore novel.”
“Oooooh, you are really going to want to keep that extra syllable,” I say. “Trust me.”
“Why?” they both ask, in unison.
“Um, remember when you said you wanted to start a cathouse?” I ask Daughter #1. She had meant, of course, a rescue home for felines.
“OOOOOHHHHHH,” she says. “This…is like…that?”
“Wait,” says Daughter #2. “I don’t get it.”
“A whore is a not-so-nice word for a prostitute. Which is, um, a lady who….”
“…a lady…who works…well…she takes payment to let men, um, have sex with her. I was trying to figure out what that board game would look like. A little different from Monopoly, I’m thinking.”
Daughter #2 grimaces. “EWWWWW!”
Daughter #1 asks, “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Well, yes,” I say. “Except in Nevada.”
“Why Nevada?” Daughter #1 asks.
I am stumped. “Maybe…it’s a Wild West thing. Las Vegas is in Nevada. Good question. It’s the oldest job in the world, they say. Being a prostitute. It’s a hard life, I think.”
“You can probably Google it,” Daughter #1 says. “Find out more official information about the job.”
“This is kind of like the time I picked up the splinter thing and I called it a PRICK, right?” says Daughter #2. “And you said GET THAT TINY PRICK AWAY FROM MY EYE and then you started laughing because you realized we were all saying a bad word by mistake?”
“This is EXACTLY like that.”
“Are you going to write about it?” asks Daughter #1
“I kind of think I have to,” I say. “Is that okay?”
“Sure. The minute you started laughing, I figured it would be good for the blog.”
“But we all understand that CATHOUSE, WHORE and PRICK never get used at school. Or…you know. Anywhere.”
“We understand,” they say.
And I am laughing again. Which makes them laugh. We are Losing Our Poo by the time we pull into the school parking lot.
Now I secretly want to create a board game called CATHOUSE. Maybe that should be my next project.
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