Letters from Suburbia: Part II

Day time in Burbage is stroller time. It's a veritable beauty pageant of Bugaboo Frogs and other inappropriately named (and priced) child transportation units. These vehicles are consistently propelled by new moms wearing black stretch pants and brightly coloured windbreakers with pervasive and confusing bum flaps. A rainbow of bum flaps bounce through this enclave: red, pink, yellow, lime green. The kinds of colours that say, 'Yo! Only fifteen pounds to go muthafuckas!' They pause at the traffic light, take a hit of Crystal Light and power walk into the labyrinth of paved pathways.

I won't lie to you. They kinda make you want to be them. So driven in their motherhood. Manhandling those shopping carts, Starbucks cups and diaper bags like freaking MacGyver. I bet they have wall hangings that say Balance or Joy. I bet they have Treat Drawers with healthy, low-fat snack ideas for kids.

Some of them are downright intimidating. On the weekend, I was confronted on the sidewalk by a jogging-stroller-dog combo. The multitasking suburban mom commandeering this weapon flashed her veneered teeth in a smile (grimace?) and swung her blond ponytail at me by way of greeting (challenge?) as she jogged by. I responded with a wilted grin and the ovary-shriveling understanding that she and her soy-based, gluten-free child were Pleasantville perfect and I live a pathetic, selfish existence.

These creatures are vicious and they are powerful. They rule the streets.

I knew for a fact her Joovy Caboose stroller concealed all manner of high-tech single girl annihilation gear. On the patented rear platform, ergonomically designed for an older child, The Blonde Assassin stashed a goodie bag of throwing stars, laser-sight rifles and 9 mm handguns.

As she bounced past, everything went into slow motion. She snarled in my direction, reaching for her weaponry. My lightning-fast reflexes kicked in and I threw myself to the ground – the well-tended lawn of #45 Tuscany Boulevard. I rolled behind the fragrant juniper and ornamental cabbage for safety. As I grabbed a handful of decorative garden rocks, I wondered, 'Why did I leave the house so unprepared?'

Blondie fired a few rounds, using the Joovy as a shield. I knew that was a decoy infant. The dog barked viciously, saliva spraying from its rabid lips.

I grabbed the high-quality Rubbermaid trash can for protection, knowing that even the odour-minimizing lid wouldn't buy me much time. I looked at the pale pink quartzite in my hand. I prayed it would be enough.

Just then, a 2008 Lexus RX Luxury Utility Vehicle drove by. Blondie's blue-eyed gaze followed it, a sheen of drool appearing on her perfectly glossed lips. I guess everyone has their price.

It was just the distraction I needed. I squinted into the high-test glare of the alloy rims and took aim. The quartzite appeared to hover in the air in front of her ideally shaped head before smashing into her temple. She crumpled into a stylish, 115-pound heap on the sidewalk. Fido cowered and the Lexus' convenient rearview back up camera swiveled, taking stock of the carnage on the Boulevard. It drove on. Peace had returned to Tuscany...for the moment at least.

Some days, it's better not to leave the 2,000 sq. ft. two-storey, open-concept house.