Bossypants by Tina Fey
"I hope that's not really the cover. That's really going to hurt sales." (Don Fey, Father of Tina Fey)
One of the things I love about being in a book club is that it takes me out of my comfort zone and forces me to read books I wouldn't normally pick up such as Bossypants by Tina Fey. Although I do like Tina Fey, I wouldn't exactly call myself a fan. I only know her from the Weekend Update at SNL and the Sarah Palin spoofs and oh yes, I did enjoy the movie Mean Girls which she wrote. I certainly wasn't expecting much from Bossypants but I surprisingly enjoyed reading it and laughed out loud several times. It's a mix of autobiography, life lessons, work lessons and funny anecdotes from her life and career.
One of the funniest parts in the book is Tina Fey's A Mother's Prayer which she wrote for her daughter. Although its been in quite a number of mommy sites (including my fellow book clubber Nona's blog), I have yet to see it on a book blog so here it is in case you missed it.
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the nearby subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock N’ Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes and not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.
Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, for Childhood is short — a Tiger flower blooming magenta for one day –and Adulthood is long and Dry-Humping in Cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers
And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, for I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 a.m., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “my mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.