The doorbell at our house broke. It didn’t just stop working. It appears someone smashed the button. Perhaps Ryan Gosling was frustrated when I didn’t answer the door. That or my children pounded on it with a toy and won’t fess up. I’m guessing, unfortunately, it’s the latter. Either way, the last time it broke my husband’s solution was simple: people can just knock. True story. So, I fixed it myself. I know it’s not complicated, but I still wanted to shout “I am woman, hear me roar!” I repaired the doorbell again yesterday. My son noticed and said, “Looks like Dad fixed the doorbell.” I informed him that it was me. He giggled, “Really?” I gave him the “a woman can do anything a man can” speech. He said, “They can’t pee standing up.” I could’ve told him about a few drunken nights in college when I proved him wrong. That speech can wait. Meanwhile, I still have to teach my daughter a thing or two about girl power. Whenever we play with her dollhouse the Mommy has to do laundry. That needs to change. Not to mention Barbie looks like she went on an all night bender with Paris Hilton. (Note the Christian Louboutin shoes. If I owned a pair the only time I could wear them is at home or playing skeeball at Chuck E. Cheese. I live a very exciting life.)
Yo! Those shoes would look FAB at Chuck E. Cheese. Good work with the doorbell. I leave mine broken–less to deal with–but if I ever break out the screwdriver (if that is indeed the proper tool) and make it ding-dong once again I’ll think of you!