And to think I was worried about my true reason for existence, what I’d do with all my free time, or what my next big goal in life would be now that I’ve achieved my biggest ones: Snagged a husband, potty-trained the kids, and found the perfect hairstylist before I turned 40. Thanks to a one-by-three-inch article in this morning’s paper, my future is secure. I’m going to play Wonder Woman in an upcoming movie.
The headline read, “‘Buffy’ creator takes ‘Wonder Woman’ film.”
“Joss Whedon…will write and direct a feature film about a daring heroine: Wonder Woman.” Said Whedon, “She has these extraordinary standards. She can’t categorically contemplate giving up.” Why, he must have read the definition following “Bus Stop Mommy” in Webster’s Dictionary.
My nickname in the sorority was Buffy. This was the next sign proving I’m destined to reprise the role of Wonder Woman on the big screen. My rear end’s getting bigger as I age; so it’ll fit on said wide screen without a problem. Those anorexic Hollywood types would get lost up there. Besides, with all that dieting and exercise, their chests aren’t big enough to hold up that shiny gold bustier.
Excuse me for a second; the phone is ringing… Okay, I’m back. My daughter forgot her English notebook so I had to run it to school. On the way home I picked up the dry cleaning, swung by the vet to drop off Hank’s latest sample, mailed the taxes, picked up maps at AAA, bought 15 bags of fill dirt for the garden, got the tires rotated and bought milk and bread.
I got home and checked my email, retrieved four messages from answering machine, returned calls (Linda Carter said I could borrow her bustier and tiara), put away the groceries, swapped out two loads of laundry, yanked a tube of ground turkey out of the freezer and tossed it in the sink to defrost for dinner, ate a PopTart for lunch with one hand while sorting socks with the other, blotted up the latest doggie gift on the new carpet, paid the bills, printed another batch of homemade return address labels, and flipped the flag up on the mail box.
I unloaded the dirt, hauled it to the garden, pitchforked the compost pile, tilled the soil, spread Weed and Feed in the yard, hauled firewood up to the deck, repaired the split garden hose, pulled my neighbor’s cat out of the tree, washed, waxed, and vacuumed the minivan, attached the car-top carrier for our upcoming road trip, topped the coolant and washer fluids, replaced the wiper blades, mowed and edged the yard and blew off the driveway. Where was I? Oh right, shiny gold bustier. Oh rats! I’ve got to shine the silver candlesticks and casserole holders for Sunday dinner.
But first I need to give Mr. Whedon a call. And practice my flying.
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at www.busstopmommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
