Junior, Git Momma Her Medicine Outta the Icebox and Mix It With Some Tonic and Lime, Wouldja?

I went to a mother's group yesterday which marks the chapter in which most of the people I talk to have progeny because otherwise I wouldn't talk to anyone at all. But it was very nice, and they're all a bunch of similarly inclined women, so I felt, if not at home, at least welcome. And there was a bottle of wine there, which is a very positive sign.

If there's one thing that gives me the heebies, it's when I suggest to mothers that we might have a glass of wine and they look at me like I offered to pluck and bake their precious tot. These were not those types of mothers. These mothers did not shy away from wine at two in the afternoon, nay, they embraced it.

We may have a future in an occasional social hour, designed specifically around harried and socially-starved moms having a civilized conversation out with others like them, complete with cocktails in their hands. There would be chatting. There would be laughing. There would be less alienation and more gaiety in the halls of maternity.

It would be my gift to society.