Stop asking where I am, before you give yourself a hernia

I realize it’s been awhile, and I know you’re all thinking, hey, I bet Marissa’s doing something really cool like scuba diving or jumping out of airplanes, but you would be wrong and I think I could rightly accuse you of not knowing me at all.

Truthfully, I’ve been watching MacGyver reruns on cbs.com, reading novels about Arthurian legend (the most recent series by Patricia Keanelly Morisson has by far the most characters of any version I’ve ever read excepting the definitive works that everyone goes back to) and devoting decent chunks of my day to writing those how-to articles. I’ll get faster as I get to know the editorial quirks better for the company, I promise.

Here is one of those things you wish you didn’t know: cats, when faced by an open door, have an uncontrolable urge to run through it. Don’t fault him, he can’t help it. Running after him down the street in your underwear is just a product of being owned by a cat. If you don’t like it, have dogs who will come when you call them, or goldfish who can only escape if they’re suicidal, and let’s face it: who wants a suicidal fish?

My children believe I’m a jungle gym. Everyone tells you that everything changes once you have a baby, but some of the things they fail to mention: You become a table-every five minutes someone hands me something and says, “here, mommy.” You become a relationship therapist- “did you tell her that you’re sorry? You need to go and do that.” You lose all privacy- “I locked the door to the bathroom because I didn’t want company!” And my favorite thing that no one tells you: It is absolutely impossible to be anything without being a mom leaching in “sorry, my kids are dancing in a recital.”

I discovered recently that I am a closet boy band fan. I heard “Cry Me a River” recently and was shocked to discover that it was Justin Timberlake.

My daughter is a plumber. No matter whether she’s wearing pants that are too big, too small or just right (she’s got blonde curly hair too and I’m sure I must’ve had an affair at some point without my recollection), her butt crack is hanging out.

If all of this feels like a short story by Virginia Woolf, then know that my life has felt that way too for an outrageously long time. I hear Moby music from the Bourne movies…

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