Death Of A Salesmom

I recently came to the decision, possibly after inhaling too many Desitin fumes, that it would be a great idea to sign up for Rollie's school fund-raiser.

I don't know what made me think I would actually be good at selling things door-to-door. The last time I attempted this was selling citrus senior year of high school to raise money to go on the class ski trip. It was such a disaster. To this day I can't even look at a grapefruit without braking out in hives. Why my school chose citrus--something that literally grows on trees in Florida--and not a rarer commodity, like decent pizza, or a pro football team that doesn't suck, is beyond me. Although it would have been difficult to cram a bunch of linebackers into the back of my 1985 Chrysler Town and Country Station Wagon come delivery time.

I could have fit a few kickers, though.

And then there was the failed magazine subscription sale I attempted in sixth grade. I went out, made a whopping two sales, then lost the envelope with the collected checks until the next school year, when I was rearranging my room and found the envelope behind my bed, covered in dust bunnies and Halloween candy wrappers. For the next five years I had to put a lot of effort into avoiding eye contact with those two neighbors so I wouldn't have to explain to them why their copies of Family Circle and Dog Fancy never arrived.

Three's An Intestinal Parasite Waiting To Happen

So what's it like having three kids?

It's a question I've been fielding for about two months now. A question which for some reason is kind of hard to answer. I mean, I ramble a lot when I try to answer it. Although I've been rambling a lot when I answer any question lately. Yesterday at Publix it took my fifteen minutes to let the cashier know that I'd forgotten my coupons. I'm thinking of hiring someone to follow me around with a hooked cane and haul me offstage when my monologues get too long. Or I can download some Wrap It Up music on my phone to play in similar situations. I wonder what genre that would be under. Soundtracks? Classical? Maybe rap...get it?

ANYWAY, the main talking points I touch on when answering the aforementioned question are as follows:

Having three kids is really not that different from having two kids. Honestly. With two kids, you're used to chaos. Messes. Stumbling around the house bleary-eyed and borderline nauseated due to lack of sleep. You're used to laundry that multiplies when you're not looking. You're used to feeling at times like you've lost your mind, and you scream more loudly than a gaggle of fifth grade girls at a Justin Beiber concert. I guess the only difference here is that on top of all this, your clothes will often smell like spit-up.  And you have bigger boobs.