Wednesday, June 11, 2014
UMBRAGE
Kid: Mommy, when I'm done with my homework, I'm going to play Umbrage.
Me: What's that?
Kid: It's just writing stuff down on a clipboard while walking around the house.
That sounds faintly relaxing, actually. And I'm reasonably sure there are people out there who get paid six figures to play Umbrage professionally.
Thinking about the professional Umbrage players out there causes me to ask myself, "Why don't I do something ELSE for a living, something that involves a clip board and a regular paycheck, something that includes crinkling up my face and wrinkling my nose and writing things down while shaking my head. "Nope no nope nope. Just: NO. None of this is up to code. None. Of. It. Unacceptable."
I've been dabbling in amateur Umbrage for years, of course. Unfortunately, I'm usually critiquing myself, and I never write anything down. I just commit it all to memory.
"Legos on the coffee table. Unacceptable. Window, smeared by a dog nose. Is someone going to take care of this? Trampled rug. Smell of burnt toast. Unopened bill on counter. That's a systems failure. That's not how we do it. Clean clothes, folded, but not delivered. Who's responsible for this? Birds outside, singing, 'Get 'er DONE, Get 'er DONE alreadeeeee!'"
5:51 AM
