Help Is On the Way

by Mindy Kaling

“Never complain, never explain” is the old saying, and my mother completely embodied it. Me, on the other hand? I love complaining. Almost as much as I love explaining! If I could just kvetch and give disclaimers all day, I would be so happy.

I hadn’t overachieved this much since high school, and I was loving this vibe for myself.

You know your friend who simply goes through life paying better attention? That’s Lauren.

She leaned back and took a long sip of her coffee, which is universal friend body language for, You’re a complete fucking idiot.

I had read the baby books, of course, but could remember literally nothing but one fact: “babies are born without kneecaps.” What the hell was I supposed to do with that information? Invite some gangster to take retribution against me by kneecapping my baby and then laugh when he realizes it’s physically impossible?

She had the kind of work ethic that reminded me of my mother, for whom nothing was more important than being professional and showing dedication.

In Los Angeles, if you tell people you give your baby formula, they look at you like you just said you force-feed her Sprite through a beer bong.

According to Rose, there was no problem apple cider vinegar couldn’t solve.

“She’s worked hard her whole life. It’s good she has such nice things.” It was the most Indian thing I’d ever heard.

I was surprised by how calming it was to be around people who looked like me and who reminded me of where I was from.