A friend of mine is applying to graduate school. Because in order to be a teacher in New York, one must be in possession of a Master's degree. We aim high, that's why. I'm going to hop out on a limb and guess that she doesn't actually have a burning desire to go to graduate school, even though she will probably do it in her jammies while drinking coffee and wiping dirty poopers watching Barney, which in my head is preferable to actually leaving the house. Because? I'm not so much fond of going places when I have to go places.
She was musing the other day about writing her admission essay, topic: why I want to go to grad school.
Here is a suggestion:
Dear Graduate School Admission Staff:
I find myself in an interesting predicament. This is why I am applying for a Master's Degree in How To Kick A Ball. It's not that I especially need to Master the skill (get it? MASTER?) It's that there are so many children out there today who have lost touch with their feet. Seriously, Admission Staffers, you would be surprised how many children in the Great State of New York no longer use their feet, due to excessive amounts of watching that ridiculous show Arthur, playing interminable sessions of Webkinz, and that little bill that went through the House and the Senate a few years ago called No Child Left Behind. Well, that's not the actual name of the bill, but I'm sure you know of what I speak.
I digress. This is not my predicament.
This is my predicament: I got knocked up. And then I got knocked up again. And again. Can you believe it? You shouldn't be that shocked, you Catholic school Republicans, and don't worry, because I am totally married and the guy I married is the one who Did The Deed. We won't be doing THAT again any time soon...no, not THAT that, we won't be getting knocked up again soon. And as it happens, when you have more than one child, things get expensive. Would you believe that those little heathens precious babes drink almost $20 of milk a week? And the little one uses up more baby formula than a meth lab. Ummm, not that I would actually know... forget I mentioned it. We HAVE to eat meat, because seriously, if we turned to beans and rice as our primary source of protein, we'd asphyxiate in our own rankness by morning. What? You're a vegan? Ooh, sorry. You're probably gavomiting right now, and I apologize for that. What? Meat is murder? Mmmmmkay, I guess you're right, we murder so we can eat the meat. It's totally worth it in my book. Let's move on, shall we?
I need to go back to work. So we don't fart ourselves to death, and run out of milk for our sippy cups. (I actually prefer a whiskey milkshake, but don't go spreading that around.)
As it happens, I have a perfectly lovely Bachelor's degree in Gross Motor Skills. But I can't even use that thing here in New York, well, I could if it were, say, six years ago, then I'd be golden. I have to get a Master's degree so that we can buy meat and milk. Ach, sorry about the meat mention again. But I love that stuff, I really, really do. And so do my precious little carnivores children. Would you like to see a picture? They are adorable, and they would REALLY like to be in daycare. No? Moving on again.
I need to get a Master's degree. I don't really have the energy, or the ability to spell, or even enough time between poopy diapers to catch my breath, but I have to go back to school. And right now, you are pretty much my only option.
So here's what I'm proposing: You let me in to your online classes, and you will never have to talk to me again. I will take my classes, and I will get mostly A's, and then I will get a job teaching the short people of America how to get in touch with their furthest extremeties. Just think: not only will I be part of the whole Get Fit, America, health kick we're pretending we're on, I could save a generation of Upstate New Yorkers from frostbite. You know it's a pressing issue here from September until May, every single year.
Also: I will not discuss meat YOUKNOWWHAT with you again. Or my family's farts.
So what do you say? Am I in?
She was musing the other day about writing her admission essay, topic: why I want to go to grad school.
Here is a suggestion:
Dear Graduate School Admission Staff:
I find myself in an interesting predicament. This is why I am applying for a Master's Degree in How To Kick A Ball. It's not that I especially need to Master the skill (get it? MASTER?) It's that there are so many children out there today who have lost touch with their feet. Seriously, Admission Staffers, you would be surprised how many children in the Great State of New York no longer use their feet, due to excessive amounts of watching that ridiculous show Arthur, playing interminable sessions of Webkinz, and that little bill that went through the House and the Senate a few years ago called No Child Left Behind. Well, that's not the actual name of the bill, but I'm sure you know of what I speak.
I digress. This is not my predicament.
This is my predicament: I got knocked up. And then I got knocked up again. And again. Can you believe it? You shouldn't be that shocked, you Catholic school Republicans, and don't worry, because I am totally married and the guy I married is the one who Did The Deed. We won't be doing THAT again any time soon...no, not THAT that, we won't be getting knocked up again soon. And as it happens, when you have more than one child, things get expensive. Would you believe that those little heathens precious babes drink almost $20 of milk a week? And the little one uses up more baby formula than a meth lab. Ummm, not that I would actually know... forget I mentioned it. We HAVE to eat meat, because seriously, if we turned to beans and rice as our primary source of protein, we'd asphyxiate in our own rankness by morning. What? You're a vegan? Ooh, sorry. You're probably gavomiting right now, and I apologize for that. What? Meat is murder? Mmmmmkay, I guess you're right, we murder so we can eat the meat. It's totally worth it in my book. Let's move on, shall we?
I need to go back to work. So we don't fart ourselves to death, and run out of milk for our sippy cups. (I actually prefer a whiskey milkshake, but don't go spreading that around.)
As it happens, I have a perfectly lovely Bachelor's degree in Gross Motor Skills. But I can't even use that thing here in New York, well, I could if it were, say, six years ago, then I'd be golden. I have to get a Master's degree so that we can buy meat and milk. Ach, sorry about the meat mention again. But I love that stuff, I really, really do. And so do my precious little carnivores children. Would you like to see a picture? They are adorable, and they would REALLY like to be in daycare. No? Moving on again.
I need to get a Master's degree. I don't really have the energy, or the ability to spell, or even enough time between poopy diapers to catch my breath, but I have to go back to school. And right now, you are pretty much my only option.
So here's what I'm proposing: You let me in to your online classes, and you will never have to talk to me again. I will take my classes, and I will get mostly A's, and then I will get a job teaching the short people of America how to get in touch with their furthest extremeties. Just think: not only will I be part of the whole Get Fit, America, health kick we're pretending we're on, I could save a generation of Upstate New Yorkers from frostbite. You know it's a pressing issue here from September until May, every single year.
Also: I will not discuss meat YOUKNOWWHAT with you again. Or my family's farts.
So what do you say? Am I in?
Are you keeping that on file for your own use soon?
ReplyDeleteMy grad school application went like this: I have a degree in American Studies. There are no jobs in that. Please let me come to your state school so that I might become a productive member of society.
So, you know - basically the same thing. But I'm still not allowed to kick a ball.
That's an awesome letter. So's Catherine's. Mine would be similar as I have a degree in history. Would you like fries with that?
ReplyDeleteI can't stop laughing long enough to change my depends!
ReplyDeleteok i "memed" you go read my blog (its all the misters fault)!
ReplyDeleteNext time you're at Target could you please pick up some sort of mat I could put on the floor next to my computer? I keep getting bruised when I fall out of my chair reading your posts.
ReplyDeleteThat is hilarious! I think you need to send that to Parents magazine to be published! Sooo true!
ReplyDelete@ Catherine: I would go to grad school, but I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. And I don't really kick balls either. It's not nice.
ReplyDelete@ Melissa: History, huh? Yeah, pretty much just have to wish you good luck with that one. Mine is music education. I don't practice any more, and I hated teaching, so that renders my degree completely useless, no matter what my mom says.
@ jill: I think there's a product that is one step higher in protection than depends. Check into that.
@ The Mister: The next one shows up at 12:01 AM Saturday. Here's some advice: just sit on the floor with the laptop. Maybe lay down on the floor with the laptop, just so's you don't hurt yourself.
@ kara: I would love to get published, but I probably wouldn't take the plunge and submit stuff. Glad you liked it!