Mom-Bots

You know who they are. The impossibly perky-and-pretty-super-scary-moms you don't dare cross for fear of being ostracized or always pulling the shit job when it comes to volunteering at the school. (And we need you to sit outside in 102 degree temps with no shade and hand out melty ice cream bars to the little snots.) That's why I don't volunteer.

Where I live the mom-bots are a cross between TV's GCB (Good Christian Bitches) and Real Housewives:

Perfectly coiffed saccharin snobby stylistas masquerading as super mommies with uber Christian values.

I live in Texas, so needless to say it's the Bible Belt Republican capital of the world. And there's nothing wrong with either of those things, except when it becomes grounds for the most hypocritical opinions and behaviors I have seen in my life.

Example: 

A kid from a super religious church going fam pushes my child on the playground and calls her Jewish and mocks her for not going to church.

We are not Jewish.

But what if we were? Why is being Jewish an insult? Jewish people go to synagogue so what does that have to do with anything? Aren't 'love thy neighbor' and 'do unto others' some sort of churchy mantra? WTF are they teaching this kid in church?! That's why I don't church.

Or:

Abortion is murder! Except when a governor-senator-congressmen knocks up some seventeen year old, then it's just political strategery. That's why I don't vote. (I jest)

My first encounter with the mom-bots was when I was picking up a friend's kids at the soon to be elementary school of my daughter. She would be starting kindergarten the following fall.

There they were. Sitting outside on the picnic benches waiting for their children of the corn at dismissal. Six or seven of them were chatting away. All had shoulder length blonde highlighted hair with darker undertones, perfectly straightened and smoothed.

They all had on the latest trendy jeans- Miss Me and the like- and some cutesy top: either a rhinestone encrusted number or an elaborately designed scrolly cross t-shirt. In some cases it was a rhinestone encrusted elaborately designed scrolly cross combo. Except for one or two of the skinny bitches in yoga pants and high end athletic shoes. But their hats had rhinestone encrusted scrolly crosses covering their blonde highlighted manes, so the balance of the universe remained intact.

As I approached, I felt strangely out of place. The closer I got I heard a voice in my head say 'We are the collective. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.'

I grabbed my charges and fled to the vehicle. The following year I decided the drive up car line was the way to go and I never walked up again. I purposely wear no makeup and a ratty ball cap or crazy Don King hair to keep them at bay and to dissuade them from wanting to bring me to the dark side. 

But sometimes when I'm parked in the school car line waiting for the bell, when all is quiet, I hear a faint buzzing and notice the blinged out hat wearing mom-bot in the gigantic black Hummer or Escalade or Range Rover (they all have these) giving me the evil eye.

The collective hive mind has instructed her to stare me down until I submit and run directly to Nordstrom's for Miss Me's and join them. I will start wearing an aluminum foil hat on my head next year in the car line to thwart their attempts at assimilation. I'm sure I have a few more years left before I become a total embarrassment to my daughter and have to stop.

But until then, I am safe from the collective and victory is mine!