Therapists everywhere are putting their feet down. There’s a new No Mom Clause. There’s been some confusion as to what that means, so let me set it to you straight.

You’re going to have to look long and hard for a shrink, who will let you blame your mother, for your shitty life.

“We’ve had it!” yelled the President of DBYM, the leading faction of Don’t Blame Your Mother. “We can’t hear one more complaint about someone’s mother. Enough is enough. Unless you never moved out of her house, it’s probably not all her fault.”

Another trickle down from the DBYM Organization is an agreement that therapists no longer accept insurance for “The Unhappy Childhood Excuse.”

“Have you seen children?” said one therapist. “Kids are so happy. Jumping around, making up games, filled with unrealistic ebullient dreams. Then, they wake up one day and they’re forty and their partner is a bum, their job sucks, they've put on fifty pounds. Must be their childhood, right? Can’t be their stupid choices.”

Mothers everywhere are breathing a unified maternal sigh of relief. “Thank the lord! It’s not our fault anymore. Finally, we can get back to our happy lives.”

What are you going to do now? I asked them. “Now that it’s not all your fault.”

“Well,” one mom said, really contemplating the question, laying down on her chaise, looking over at the clock. “I’ll get around to having a happy life, but I got some shit to work out first.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. “What kind of shit?”

“Well, to start with, I’m not saying my kids are terrible people, but I was hoping they’d be more successful or at least give me cuter grandkids.”