Membership is fairly simple. It involves throwing your pride to the wind and conceding defeat, even on Sunday mornings. Once you can take your youngest to church in a John John, shirtless I might add, you'll get your key. It's a key to the club called Being Real and it is fantabulous. It's tough though, you've likely been striving for this thing called perfection for a while now and it won't be an easy break up. Abandoning any addiction takes willpower and fortitude, reminding yourself why you even wanted to join in the first place.

I'll tell you why. It is freedom at its' very finest. Being real means throwing caution to the wind and not only airing your dirty laundry, but watching your son put it on and telling him to get in the car so we won't be any later. Gone is the stress and the arguing and the hounding people to shower and brush their hair. Frankly, I just don't give a damn and I tell you, I'm happier. I used to try so hard and it was so fricking exhausting.

Sundays are the most revealing. Getting people ready for church will tear up your pious nerves quicker than about anything. One minute you're asleep and the next you are arguing with folks over what is acceptable for admission into the world of falsehoods. I give up. I wave a white flag. I just can't take the pressure anymore. I want my key. Please, I'll take the key. I'm tired of arguing, sighing, yelling at my spouse, looking for the hairbrush, wrestling special needs preschoolers, unearthing shoes that cause blisters.

I choose to be real. I hope you'll join me. It's always more fun to have friends along and being real all alone can be kind of lonely. Come on, give it a shot. Don't tell me that you're happy for me or that my choice is inspiring. I know a lot of you live in the big city where everyone is fancified, but this is your chance to be a trendsetter. Joy is there for the taking, you just have to barge in and welcome yourself. I double dog dare you.