To Prove It Hasn't Gone To My Head, You Don't Have To Call Me Madame President

As a result of the absence of any other interested parties, voter indifference and the fact that I was cleaning my fingernails with a pen when the secretary queried, "Any objections from the nominee?" I have been elected PTA president.

I'm honored to be bestowed with such a title. I plan to run our monthly meetings with an iron fist, commanding respect from the crowd of tens of people. Other parents will stand and take notice at how smoothly our annual candy sale will run, and our decorations for the kindergarten graduation will put us on the map. Just to keep with protocol I've instructed the girls to call me 'Ma'am' instead of mommy, and Rigel - well he can continue to call me Your Highness but I've ordered him to take that sneer out of his voice.

I imagine Oprah will want me on her show soon. She'll introduce me, and I'll sashay in wearing a hip outfit while she yells out "It's not your momma's PTA!" We'll laugh and hug and the audience will be riveted with my exciting bake-sale stories and I'll have them in stitches with my blooper reel from Back-To-School night. Later in the interview we'll have a serious moment, where I cry as I muse on how far I've come and how, if only big-assed Pamela Walker from the third grade could see me now she'd be so sorry she poured milk on my shoes and called me a raggedy bitch.

Then, because of the exposure, I'll have all the morning shows calling me, and I'll have to choose between Regis and Kelly or Katie and Matt. I choose the Today show because deep down, I think Matt Lauer is kind of hot, even with that weird GI Joe haircut. The show goes well, and when I get back to my hotel room there is an offer to head up FEMA. I dance around and order champagne, all the while grateful for the opportunities the PTA has given this raggedy bitch from the inner city.

Let the inauguration begin!

Archive File: Offspring | This Life

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