Dear Oscars,
It's not you. It's me.
*meaningful pause*
OK, it's actually you, and by "you," I mean "me." I'm in a different place in my life right now, a place covered in Cheerios and scattered tiny little Lego pieces that dig into the soles of your feet. A place where if you want to get the attention of others, you simply withdraw to the washroom and wait. I have two boys (ages 2 and 5) and a full-time job. Evenings are for all-you-can-cook-and-chore while weekends are for all-you-can-STOP AND DON'T!!! Quite frankly, when all is said and done, I have neither the joie nor the vivre left in me required to enjoy your company. We've simply drifted apart and I think you know where I'm going with this, Oscars. You have to go.
Just as soon as I've hate-watched the Red Carpet.
Okay, go. STAY. GO. STAY. GO STAY. I mean it.
I know that after so many years together it may come to you as a shock, but believe me, I have my reasons:
1. Rubbing Clean People Who Have Time to Clean up in My Face
Gee, thanks so much for taunting me and showering me (no pun intended) with an endless parade of freshly-cleaned, coiffed and manicured individuals of both genders, none of whom is wearing stickers. And don't think I didn't notice the whimsical gowns and hairdos. We survivalists don't do whimsical.
2. A Reminder of Your Place in Society in the Form of a List of Movies None of Which You Have Watched Nor Heard of
You think you're so much better than me, don't you, knowing exactly who, she, it, what (?) is Birdman? Oh, look at you, so cool and non-obsolete, but guess what, buddy... OK, I've got nothing.
3. 11:30 p.m. - Really? Is that still a thing? I'm sorry, but I'm not taking on any new sleep-deprivers at the moment. I'm at full capacity.
4. Red Carpets Are a No-No
You call it Red Carpet, I call it Ketchup Stains. Tomatoes Tom-uh-toes. Red comes in chalk, juice, jams and crayons. Red be bad. We no likey.
5. "Who Are You Wearing?" Brings (Lower and Upper) Back Pain
What, this little number? Oh, this is Daniel. He is a baby and he lives in this Baby Bjorn. OK, that's not entirely true, he's 2 now and has relocated, but my back still remembers this as if it was yesterday.
So peace out, friend. I'll catch up with you in a couple of years.
This post appeared on Katia's blog, www.iamthemilk.wordpress.com. You can find Katia on Twitter @KatiaDBE and on Facebook.