There is nothing more enjoyable to me than the squall of twelve children in ninety-five degree weather on a Tuesday morning. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I stood there with a plastic pitcher of Country Time lemonade, feeling distinctly like something out of one of those energy pill commercials where the mother stands with a plate of spaghetti and the kids run around her with the sauce on their hands and faces. I could just hear the disembodied voice of your health advisor telling you to not under any circumstances ever be like me. Take pills. It's better than spilling sugar on your shoe. I only really made fifty bucks from nine to two thirty, but the experience left me completely devoid of anything but the commercial mom all day. I caught myself standing at Stein Mart a few hours ago mumbling "Why? Why pink? Why?" under my breath like my former four year old charge as I examined chandelier earrings and belts that probably made your pants fall down more than they held them up. I stood blankly in front of the sunglass rack, cringing at the sound of a little girl screeching for candy as her mother happily ignored her and lifted a pair of pastel capri pants. I put a pair of state trooper glasses on from Nine West, on sale for twenty dollars. I stared at my thin strip of reflection and told myself to get out of the vehicle, ma'am. I didn't. I sat there blankly, digging through my purse for a pen apologetically. When I got home, I thought about chronicaling my sadly unsatisfactory day in my SITdiary, but ate some ice cream instead and thought about my sunburn. Why do I burn anyways? Why can't I be like normal people and tan? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Well why not? The health advisor sat on my floor and riffled throught the thick stack of Vogue magazines. This is a nice dress, the health advisor said. I thought so too. He turned to the audience and recommended five daily servings of fruits and veggies while I pretended my spoon was a nose ornament. I recalled the sharp screeching of children as a bug landed harmlessly in their midst and the health advisor considered telling the audience about bile reducing antacid pills as well. My nose ornament jingled as it rattled into the cup. My ceiling fan has exactly thirty four decorative vents on the blades. I think I'm going to just leave the child rearing to the pros and get my tubes tied. Like, tomorrow.