Poor Sport

You know, I was pretty proud of myself last week. I not only cleaned my 13-year old daughter's bedroom (a.k.a. The Black Hole) but I also made a dent in cleaning out my own closet and finally parting with many of the clothes that will never fit me. I was also happy that my faithful dog and I had managed to walk a few miles this week, despite the unseasonal heat and humidity. I was just reaching around to pat myself on the back when I found out about Molly Shattuck. If you haven't heard about her, just wait. Your husband will probably introduce you.

Here's a brief bio: She's a Baltimore Ravens Cheerleader, she's blonde, she's beautiful, she's got a body that won't quit, and, oh yeah, she's 38 and has 3 kids under the age of 6. And, if that isn't good enough, she has run a marathon, is learning to play piano, tap-dances and sews. She had 250 people over for dinner last week and did the flower arrangements herself.

Finally, someone to hate now that Martha Stewart has done her time.

Upon Molly successfully making the Ravens' cheerleading squad, her husband commented: "Suddenly, I wake up and I'm married to an NFL cheerleader! How good is that?"

About which I will tell my husband: "Yeah, in your dreams buddy. Right after the marital property settlement."

But wait, don't throw in the towel just yet. There's another side to Molly Shattuck that has taken a back seat to her accomplishments. She's married to Mayo Shattuck, one of the wealthiest men in Baltimore and....she has a 30-hour-a-week babysitter. That's right, Molly Shattuck is a privately-funded, one-woman mid-life crisis avoidance project. Thanks to Mayo and his fat paycheck, Molly has the time and resources to make the rest of us look like underachieving slobs.

Now I don't wish Molly any harm. It's just that here in the trenches of THE REAL WORLD, life just isn't quite that glamorous. For every Molly, there are ten women who are out-of-shape, tired and without a babysitter for 2 hours, let alone 30. You see, Molly's story doesn't empower us, it depresses us. It doesn't inspire us, it's a reminder that no matter how many closets we clean, there will always be someone doing it better, faster and looking cuter while they're doing it.

Those of us who have a few years on Molly know the truth. This fairy tale ain't gonna last. Sooner or later the abs will become a 12-pack, the boobs will begin to sag, the roots will start to grow out and Mayo might start looking around for a cheerleader with a few less miles.

I wish Molly the best but hope for one thing: When she's in a kickline and pulls a hammie, I'll be in my kitchen pulling a ham out of my oven watching it on TV.