My services are simple: I’ll cure your loneliness, little mama, the loneliness that comes from giving up that career of yours, from moving to a new a suburb where the garage doors closes tightly behind the car so you never see the people go inside.

$100 will get you a whole afternoon of my services. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and park my stroller next to yours. I’ll sit with you on a park bench and we’ll laugh as our children rub sand into their hair. I’ll be your friend. We’ll page through magazines together, or we’ll discuss global warming, or the state of the nation. I’ll tell you that you look like that beautiful actress who once dated John Mayer. You look amazing. I’ll say, How do you do it? We’ll take turns pushing our children in the swing. I’ll laugh. I’ll let you cry. I won’t judge you. If you feed your kid formula or have a family bed, I’ll nod and let you know you are doing it right.

You are a good mama. A great mama. Your children love you. They do. I’ll say these things to you until you smile, until you laugh, until you are alive and animated and confident again.

Those other moms, the ones who sit at the picnic table, who never say boo to you, who let their kids steal your kids sand toys, and never invite you to come sit by them, well, I’ll make them want to join our little bench.

A whole afternoon of just me and you.

I’ll bring you back to my place and I’ll pour us each a glass of wine and we’ll put in a video for the kids until it is time for our husbands to come home.

You’ll go home glowing and happy and loved.

$25 will get you an hour of whatever you need. A good laugh. A long cry. I’ll sit next to you so you won’t have to sit there all alone. I’ll listen to you. I’ll let you know that you exist.

Here’s my cell number, my e-mail address. Contact me any time. Tell your husband the money is for a music class, or baby yoga, or for the organic grocery store. You know you don’t want to sit there all alone. You know you don’t.