For the past few days now my son has had a new presence in his life - his imaginary cat friend "Oliber." He's been obsessed with the movie Oliver and Company about an orphan cat who finds love and a home with a sweet girl from the upper East side. Now, we're nowhere near the upper east side and I'm not a cat lover, to be sure. We have a 120 pound smelly dog who sleeps on the couch, farts with alarming results and steals any and all food possible. But somehow...this damn Oliber has made his way inside our home.
A few days ago my son, Ethan, began talking about how he picked up "Oliber" and he now lives with us. He asks me to wait for Oliber, or tells me Oliber will be watching Wall-E with him. You've got to applaud the kid's imagination.
But Oliber got me thinking... If my son, E, could have an imaginary friend - why can't I? My friend would love getting me coffee and Noahs Bagels every morning. She would die over the thrill of spreadsheets, smile sweetly as she typed coverage reports and coo into the phone when my client wanted yet another round of revisions. She would skip to the bank for me, sing sweetly as she mopped up the "waterfall" a three year old boy can make around the pisser, and gently sway my screaming daughter to sleep as she throws "doggy" across the room in a rage at the injustice of a nap. She would cook nutritious meals while holding a one year old on her hip, load the dishwasher and do the wash simultaneously, make great bubble fun in the tub for two, wet slippery seal children and then read numerous stories before bedding them down for the night. And did I mention her massage technique?
Ahhh, what an imaginary friend I would have - so good, she would even kick that damn cat Oliber out of our house.