Back off, PTO Whore!

 

PTO moms are the real Mean Girls at school.

They’re Martha Stewart on steroids, this impenetrable clique of powerhouses who raise volunteering to an art form. They are the only women you know who own Kwanza-themed salt and pepper shakers, believe all parents enjoy forced crafts participation, and think nothing of bullying the principal into putting their kids in the “right” class.

Don’t let their fake laser-whitened smiles fool you. At Little Dude’s school, the PTO is like Orange is the New Black, rife with vicious power struggles, desperate alliances and forced socialization with horrible people – without any of the lesby girl-on-girl shower action.

They’re relentless and unwavering in a never-ending quest to raise money for EVERYTHING. These bitches will shake you DOWN. Back to School Night is like an open air market in Jakarta.

 

I’ve been volunteering at Little Dude’s school for the entire time he’s been there – and he’s now in the FIFTH grade. And these women still barely acknowledge me.

It’s not as if I run a crack den or a phone sex room. They just only care to interact with whomever has been granted the exalted status of PTO “Inner Circle” – a dubious distinction at best.

How these women manage to be so perfectly coiffed at 9 am is a mystery to me. Even more so is why. And they always look so vibrant, to match their strained and obligatory cheerfulness. Never mind that they’re so medicated they wouldn’t flinch if they were fucked up the ass with a pointy dildo.

But even if I didn’t resemble a pale Goth hobo, I would still have been denied access to their Inner Circle. Because I’m the mom who breaks the rules.

Yep. If Little Dude forgets his lunch and I have to run back to the school, I’ve been known to actually park in the fire lane right in front of the school – cause I’m gangsta like that.

 

OF course, I should add that I don’t attend PTO meetings. They’re painful in a menstrual cramp sort of way; a long, slow, dull ache that lasts hours. A brood of hens clacking over inane minutiae. You could fill an entire ROOM with the fucks I don’t give about whether or not they should offer gluten-free tampons in the lady’s room.

With the Ex out of the picture, he who functioned as a stay-at-home dad, I’m doing two full-time jobs running my business and my home. I’m so busy the last time I actually took a leisurely crap I had to stretch afterwards.

But my kid likes me to participate in school activities, so I continue to do so.

 

One day last summer, when I was really hungover from drinking at a club all night tired, I accidentally agreed to oversee Little Dude’s biggest school event.

Trunk or Treat.

A zillion parents decorate their cars for Halloween and park them in the school parking lot. All the kiddos go from car to car, collecting candy.

There’s also a bake sale, a dance party, carnival games, pumpkin carving, a costume parade and contest, etc etc etc ad infinitum.

 

Every year, I run the Trunk or Treat bake sale. Despite my best efforts, It’s a giant cluster of fuck to the point of being comical. Last year, we actually ran out of baked goods halfway through the night. At a bake sale.

My sterling moment that evening? When I burst out, “Little BITCH!” at an angelic kindergartener dressed as Cinderella who dropped an entire plate of the precious few cupcakes we had – on the floor. I thought I only said it in my mind, but apparently, I said it out loud.

Last year was the most disorganized year ever. Little Dude and his friends came around 7:30 for an event that was supposed to go from 6-9.

Nothing was left. Nary a cupcake. No candy to be distributed. All the crafts had been used up. It was a catastrophe, as far as he and his buds were concerned.

 

This summer, while talking about Halloween (yes, we talk about Halloween in the summer. We talk about it ALL YEAR LONG because it is my kid’s favorite holiday) he said, “Mama, do you think you could run Trunk or Treat? I know it would get done right if YOU did it.”

And, in a moment of weakness, I agreed to run the entire event. I knew I was signing my own death warrant.

It’s been an anathema dealing with these women. Trunk or Treat is next Friday, and I have been slaving tirelessly for a month. My emails get ignored; the head honchos pretend I don’t exist or at best, give me a half-hearted wave when they see me at school. No one seems the slightest bit grateful that I’m running myself ragged to execute the biggest event of the year.

The final straw came when one of the inner circle moms, a succubus In clogs, gave me the stinkeye after I mentioned that I plan to decorate the tops of my cupcakes with little knives sticking out of the top, dripping blood.

“Really?” she asked, her voice thick with skepticism.

“Yes. They’re awesome,” I answered. Perhaps a tad defensively.

“Are you sure that’s age appropriate for some of the younger kids?” she challenged.

“I make them every year. They sell out immediately.”

She went off on a tangent about the younger kids, in a brutally nasal whine, and I *think* I actually heard her complaining about high fructose corn syrup in the icing. She just continued her tirade against my innocent bloody cupcakes until I SNAPPED.

 

I grabbed her by the bleached blonde hair on her head and the little tuft of hair on her pussy and flung her RIGHT THROUGH A PLATE GLASS WINDOW.

 

Okay. I really didn’t. But I SO wanted to. It was a delightful fantasy.

 

Why are these women so imperious, self righteous and dictatorial?

My theory is that when people donate this much of their time to an organization and aren’t getting paid, they feel entitled to high-handedly order the rest of us peons around.

Also, judging from their tendencies to be micromanaging, back stabbing and drunk on imaginary power, they probably gave up corporate careers to be stay-at-home moms. Now that they’ve put permanent muzzles on their ambitions, being overbearing PTA moms is their only outlet.

Bottom line? I’m only too glad to let these women have at it. I’m not about to devote my entire waking existence to running school events.

I’m just there to sell some inappropriately decorated cupcakes

 

My cupcakes bring all the boys to the yard.

 

 

Have you ever been tortured by the PTO moms? Does it make you not want to volunteer?
What do you think of these cupcakes?
Talk to me. I’m listening.