C'est la vie

Dear Diary,

Laura is pregnant. She says she doesn’t know who the father is and doesn’t care to find out. After all, she is going to get an abortion stat. I’ve always been known for my rapid fire manner of speech, but when Laura announced she was knocked up, I really did not know what to say. What do you say to your 21 year-old best friend when she tells you she is with child? I mean, no offence, but Laura would be a terrible mother. Her smoking habits would put Bette Davis to shame, and a record of her romantic partners would make Dante’s Divine Comedy look succinct.

In fact, I cannot think of a single person scanter on maternal instincts than my dear Laura. And I don’t mean to insult her – it’s a compliment if anything. Maternal instincts are so overrated. If you think of people who you consider to have ‘maternal instincts’ I bet you they’re covered in peanut butter and have globs of jelly entwined in their hair. What’s the point of being good at looking after someone else when you can’t take care of yourself? Also, you don’t need to have maternal instincts nowadays if you want a child, that’s what your Mexican nanny is for.

And onto a much more pressing issue, my father has decided to adorn himself with unjust cruelty by putting me on – dare I say it – a budget! My god, the only time I ever hear this abominable word is when the annual budget is announced on C-Span. A budget?! Father has not yet provided me with the specifics ­– no doubt hideously deformed in their lack of zeros. He has told me, however, that the budget will begin effective next week and is a result of my superfluous spending habits. Superfluous?! I ask you this, is a $900 pair of to-die-for Louboutins that make your feet look immortal excessive? Oh, those that wear flat shoes lack both heel and compassion!

Well, that is all for today. Pregnant best friends and budgets. My life could not possibly be more odious right now.

Ciao,

Beth