Being rich is for suckers

Having a discussion with some girlfriends the other day, we were bitching about celebrity moms who pull themselves together after having babies in no time flat. The consensus was that, with enough money, anybody could do it.

"After all," my friend said, "they get a personal chef, a hot trainer, and a wetnurse for the baby. I'd be skinny as shit if I had that kind of help."

I, on the other hand, realize that if I were rich enough to hire that kind of help, I would also have the good cable-- with Tivo-- and spend my waking hours watching this season's lineup of Project Runway, Dancing with the Stars, the new Joss Whedon Dollhouse, and TrueBlood-- the new HBO show based on books by my favorite vampire novelist Charlaine Harris. I could also hire a personal chef, but she would quit when she realized that all I really wanted was Breyer's ice cream and a bottle of wine. And my trainer would quit when the only exercise I got was kicking his ass when he tried to pry the ice cream spoon out of my hand.

Thank god for poverty. Sigh.