On Saturday we had our usual trip to the Holy Mecca (Target Superstore). Since Connor was with me, we made our required jaunt to the toy aisle. A boy and his mom came down the aisle, and the boy said “hi Connor.”
“Oh, you guys know each other. Were you in the same class”, I asked.
Me: “Does he go to your summer camp?”
Me: “Are you in a street gang together?”
Finally the boy told me they both went to the Y after school program, at Mediocre Primary School (not actual name of school).
The boys put on Ironman masks, grabbed shields and swords, and started playing. They were having a blast, and were playing so nicely together. I was impressed.
I turned to the boy’s mom, and said “they’re playing so well together. I’m surprised, because Connor has ADHD, but they are really getting along.”
She said her boy had ADHD too, and he usually plays well with younger kids. I asked what grade he’s in, and she said he’ll be going into 3rd grade, which will be at the school next door to the primary school.
“Oh, what a shame, they won’t be seeing each other at the after school program this next year.” This is my special secret code for “let’s be friends so our kids can play together.”
She said, “oh, I guess not.”
It was like a date, where the guy leans in for a kiss, but gets left hanging in mid-air. Geez, it was just going to be a peck. I wasn’t going to slip you the tongue or anything.
But then my wing-man tried to help me score by saying, “Mom, can I go to his house and play?”
The other boy said, “you can’t today, because our house is too messy.” Cute, right?
So I started laughing and said, “well then I guess Connor would feel right at home there!” Hahahaha, get it? My house is messy too. I extended the sisterly olive branch by revealing that I, too, am a frazzled mom with a messy house. We are simpatico, you and I.
She still didn’t bite.
So I step it up a notch and say, “they are really having fun playing together, we should get them together for a play date sometime.” Come on lady, don’t leave me hanging out here like some stalker douche-mom.
“Oh yeah, we should. We better get our shopping done and let you get yours done. Come on Boy, let’s get going.”
The boys continued talking and having mad love for each other out into the aisle, and even as we walked away.
Me, I was totally rejected. I mean, I showered that morning, and my shirt didn’t have any stains or anything. I felt like a dirty mom whore.
I gave a secret little glance back as we parted ways. I thought about trotting over to ask for her number, but I was too afraid she would decline.
When I told the hubs about my miserable attempt and making a new mommy friend, he gave some great guy advice. He said, “you should have just offered your number, so you wouldn’t have to feel like you were a freak for asking for hers.”
Right, but I didn’t think of that, because I’m not very smart. And I prefer that people just pick up the hints that I throw down. And because I want to be a big baller, and big ballers get numbers handed to THEM.
So here I am, feeling like a big loser because I can’t make a mom friend. And also feeling like other moms are snooty bitches.
It’s probably more of the second thing, right?