All the mothers I know are huddled over cups of coffee anxiously discussing Pokemon. Their kids are obsessed, they haven’t slept for days, criminals are going to trace and kill them, they just don’t know how to cure this latest dark and dangerous obsession.
I’m trying to be supportive. Except I’m sitting at coffee too and I know that Pikachu is down the road and I only need to escape from this suburban hellhole and walk 200 meters and I’ll find him, aisle thirteen in the supermarket.
Near the tomato sauce.
I’m holding off though. Maybe because I had my fill of Pokemon as a young mom, maybe because I don’t care who gets to the tomato sauce first, maybe because Pokemon is not my only obsession.
I’ve had obsessions. Often.
They take up a lot of time.
They’re not very healthy.
It takes a lot of hard work to get over them.
But relax dear mother friends of mine. They do end, they, what was I saying, oh my god that’s Pikachu, it’s really him, hang on, pay for my coffee I gotta get him, hang on, hang on…
Yeah. They do end.
Without killing us.