I’ve done so many kagels this week I’m now sporting a beard!
As I’ve aged, I’ve discovered one thing to be perfectly true about myself. My mind has a tendency to wander. Have you seen that new kitchen gadget that’s supposed to make your life that much easier? Umm…actually, wander is probably too gentle a description to describe how my self-deprecating, and still un-medicated brain cells work. Racing is probably the right word. Yep, that bitch races like she’s part of an AARP NASCAR event on steroids. No control, and most certainly…NO filters!
But I don’t worry too much about it. First off, I’m too old to care what people think, and secondly, I know people now, and my new best friend just happens to be a bail bondsman, so I pretty much say or do whatever I feel like saying or doing now! If you’re menopausal, you will completely understand why you should have people like this on the same page as you.
Anyway, the other day I was busy plucking one of those stray eyebrows that seems to always pop up in several places on my chin, and on my other chin, when all of a sudden, out of the blue, my mind took a turn and raced backwards to that time in my life where this kind of grooming was for old broads unheard of.
I was remembering when I was that ‘skinny, perfect, glamo-rama’ girl. Holy crap! That was the greatest time of my life!
Back then, in my almost famous era, I never, ever considered leaving the house unless I was camera ready, just in case the paparazzi got wind that I was out and about! Those days were spectacular!
I was in my twenties then. I had the world by the balls, and let me tell you…those balls were enormous. I could juggle them and never miss a beat. My boobs were perky and there was only one level to my chin and my butt. I wore crop tops, short shorts, mini skirts and, O.M.G. fuck me high-high-heels! Of course, this last item may very well be the reason I can longer tippy-toe around today!
Back in that day…
…my thigh’s never rubbed together.
…my underarms never jiggled.
…my ass never undulated.
…my stomach was as flat as a washboard.
…my skin was taut and sprung back like a rubber band.
…and my neck, well, it’s something I usually prefer not to talk about, but back in the day…oh, it was flawless.
I had no skin crevices yet, no barnacles springing up, no wrinkles, no age spots, and no cellulite…nada! I was perfect in every way. (Of course, this is what I tell myself now as I look back on the journey to where I am today.)
I never once feared reflective surfaces during those early years. As a matter of fact, I was actually drawn to them, relentlessly, because back then, that was my job. You know, being beautiful, being on television, being photographed on a daily basis. I spent every waking moment working diligently towards keeping myself in my ‘perfection’ mode! How I looked back then was my moneymaker. I was a model/actress and eventually, after my daughter hit middle school, I had proudly moved into M.I.L.F mode! (If you don’t know what that is, I suggest you Google it!)
But here I am today. All of a sudden, thirty years have flown by. Lot’s of things have changed, relocated or…umm…nope, every thing has pretty much relocated. It’s then I realize that, when I see someone staring at me now, my inner ego springs to attention and I find my hand automatically going to my chin first (to check for gangly strays) and then to my upper lip because I may have left my humble domicile without shaving that small mustache that’s taken up residence between my nose and upper lip. And if that’s all okay, I then check to make sure that the girls are safe and sound in my bra because I’ve caught them trying to sneak out the side of it every so often because I’m so damned cheap now. I still try to wear my old bra’s that contain not one stinking thread of spandex in it, so I completely understand why the girls doth protest on occasion. It keeps life interesting, that’s for sure.
These days, working in and through the fucking fantastic menopause phase, everything has changed about me, including my demeanor. I can clear a room in less than five seconds if my hormone level has taken a dive. My wrinkles laugh lines have become deeper, and I can now actually, truthfully, answer that age-old question of ‘do your boob’s hang low, do they wobble to and fro, can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them in a bow’? And the answer to that my friends is…YES, YES, YES, YES…they do…and I can!
I have also discovered that my body had lost all of its moisture producing abilities, which sometimes proves embarrassing. The other day I had lunch with a friend. When I arrived at the table she reached out to touch my pants and asked me if they were corduroy. I had to admit to her that, NO, they were not, it’s just the sound my vagina makes now when I walk because I sometimes forget to use a vaginal moisturizer. Bitch please! She’s the same age as me. She should know better than to assume the noises my body makes now are not due to costume malfunctions.
As for the elasticity of my skin, well, that’s also gone to hell in a hand basket. Here’s a perfect example of how bad it is. Last week I got out of bed, walked down the hall to the bathroom and when I got there, I realized only one of the girls had come with me. I guess that my husband, at some point during the night, had rolled over on top of the other one, so yeah, the bitch was still snuggled up underneath him somewhere. I had to sit there on the toilet, bracing myself with both hands on the wall just in case he happened to roll over and free her before I peed and got back into bed.
Oh yeah! Menopause is grand. Wearing my big girl pants is mostly fun!
All in all, when my estrogen patch has been safely installed somewhere on my groin, life is pretty damned good. My kids are still alive (only because I discovered my hormone deficiency early on)! My husband still loves me warts and all, and my dog? Well, bless his heart. He still nose butt’s me in the ass after I’ve been gone all day, even though my gastro problems have grown exponentially during this sacred phase of my life!
Yep, I’m a big girl now. Attitude is everything, right?
…are the envy around the world. Oh yes they are alrighty!
You can bet your bottom dollar on that!
Every woman dreams of throwing in the towel, of forgoing the demands of deadlines, the clock in, the per diem lunch, the company of both male and female coworkers (who become their social life), the trips to lands both National or International while creating spellbinding deals for this or that, all paid for of course, on someone else’s dime.
Yes, these woman would gladly forgo their hefty pay checks and bonuses, the medical and dental benefits, the 401K’s, the paid vacations, the paid sick leave, the maternity leave, and whatever else falls under the leave benefits. They’d gladly pack in the business suit, the tummy tucking taupe/nude/ecru and special occasion black panty hose, the pumps and all the pomp and pompousness, just so they too can spend their day lounging about in their stretchy little designer sweatsuits.
And let me tell you, there’s nothing like a huge, sloppy ‘Juicy’ , ‘Pink’ or ‘Tap This, Not That’ logo splashing boldly across the ass of your freshly washed sweat pants. Personally, having hit menopause, I’ve altered all of mine. I think they’re cute…hubby disagrees! My favorite so far are the stretchy, velvety black ones with the logo, ‘CLOSED DUE TO GAS LEAK!’ A little bold but it does the trick.
Yeah, I must tell you that I dream about my days at home. Seriously! It’s bliss in a spray can, especially when you live by the motto, CAN do! Right on eh!
Sometimes early in the morning, while I’m still in my fuzzy housecoat, (yes, I’m talking early morning as in 3 am) I load up my pockets with a can of Pledge, Windex, rags and that fucking amazing Mr. Clean Miracle Eraser that can take the paint off right your car in one easy swipe. OH MY GOD! I bow to the inventors of this brilliant cleaning device.
I love to wrap my hands around that baby, especially a fresh new one right out of the box, because I know I, me, the stay-at-home Goddess I’ve become, am going to create incredible little cleanliness miracles all over the house. Oh yeah baby! This is like a Stay At Home Mom orgasm. Yes indeedy! Fingerprints…pfff! Missed shot-middle-of-the-night pee…no problem! Coca Cola sprayed on the ceiling…I got you bitch!
If only it could wipe out entire rooms? Now that could save me so much time, I might actually be able to do my nails once in a while! Or I could sit down and read a book with my champagne and bon bon’s in my stretchy sweat pants!
Every night, right before I fall asleep,
I try to conjure up juicy fantasy’s I run through the list of things I’ve got on tap for the following day, and I’m gonna let you in on a little secret here. It really helps if you put the most enjoyable task last because it may inspire your dreams. And who doesn’t love dreaming about clean, starched, neatly folded laundry, or seeking out that cute little shovel you bought with the intention of using it to hone your gardening skills, but which you’ve recently discovered works equally as well for cleaning up the little chocolate blessings your dog has left for you in both the front, side and back yards.
And who can resist the sound of that freshly disinfected brush as it wipes away remanent’s from your slaved over dinner from the previous night. Oh, we stay at home mom’s live for the moment we see that Tony Curtis twinkle emanating from every toilet bowl in the house. You know, I even bought into that
stupid, ridiculous, cleaning commercial where those little scrubbers that talk and wisk themselves around the toilet bowl. Well, let me tell you, it’s bullshit. I sat there for an hour the other waiting for them to appear after spraying the bowl, and nothing! Not one cute little brush appeared. I might have to sue someone over this.
…to be continued!
…got it going on.
I see a lot of my friends on Facebook posting things like, ‘just had the most romantic evening laying about naked in front of the fireplace, drinking wine, having sexual relations with the hubby. So nice having the house to ourselves now’!
We tried that once, but after the kids complained for the umpteenth time that they were tired of stepping over us on the way to the kitchen, we had to put a kabosh on that one.
Another friend posted this one. ‘I can’t believe how much I can get done in a day now that the kids are out on their own’!
Bite me! If I had the house to myself I could probably write a book a day! But no, I spend most of my time chasing after them to get things done, do homework, clean your room, blah, blah, blah!
I’ve tried everything to reach this point but I guess I’ve still got a few more years to go.
Last week I got so tired of the kids just hanging out at home doing nothing, where I work, clean, cook, pick up shit and answer constantly to my African spiritual name ‘MumCumHere’, I started making calls to see how I could get them out of the house sooner than later.
Good Morning, Rapid Pest Control
Me: Hello. I need to get rid of some pests.
Pest Control Operator: Okay, we’ll be there in an hour. Is anyone still in the house?
Me: No…..just the children!
Pest Control Operator: Well Ma’am, they’ll have to get out of the house.
Me: Why? There’d be no reason for you to come out then!
So that didn’t work, but I’m a woman of stamina. So long as I’ve got my tramp stamp in place (as in my estrogen patch) I can go at this for a long spell of time in order to reach my goal. I got out the yellow pages and started flipping through it until another number caught my eye.
Good Morning, LA Adoption Services. How can I direct your call?
Me: Are you looking for kids up for adoption?
Operator: Um…yes ma’am, that’s what we do.
Me: I have two that are available. I’m done with them now so they need a new place to stay so you can have them for free.
Operator: Ma’am, are you alright?
Me: I will be once you take the children.
Me: Look, I’ve already had a consult with an interior decorator. I need the oldest one’s bedroom. I’m converting it into an office for myself. Would you at least consider taking one at a time?
Operator: Ma’am…exactly how old are your children?
Me: 25 and 18.
There were a few more calls made but seems like there are no takers out there.
Guess the only way they’re going to get out is going to happen the old fashioned way–over time!
…are such a trendy thing these days. Doesn’t matter whether you’re old or young, fat or skinny, rich or poor (although you can get a pretty bitchin’ tat if you’re loaded), male or female, the ink is flowing freely.
I’ve seen them on ankles, on elbows, on calves, on thighs, on arms, on fingers, on faces, on backs and on just about every body part there is.
Hubby has always been fond of the lower back tattoo. The Tramp Stamp as it’s more familiarly called. I’ve seen big ones, small ones, colorful ones and really, really stupid ones. Some have messages, some have pictures.
All in all I think the fact that you can’t see what the tattoo artist is doing while they are doing it is not so good. Sometimes what you ask for is not necessarily what you’ll end up with. Say you ask for a beautiful angel. Do you really want to walk around with a picture of Angeli Jolli hovering above your ass?
I have discovered though that after ingesting multiple glasses of alcohol, red wine in particular, one should not pick this moment to get a tattoo.
I decided to try one on, but not a permanent one. I’m a chicken shit and my experience with needles has always left me a little gun shy. I went for the henna tat, one that would eventually leave my body without any costly removal fees and pain.
“I’d like something different. I’m Canadian so maybe do something that would represent my country, make it something everyone loves,” I offer in the way of suggestion.
“Mmm…” That was his big response.
An hour later he stands back and admires his work. I can’t help but notice the shit-faced grin he’s sporting.
Another half-hour passes before I’m allowed to get up so the ink will be dry. He knots my t-shirt up around the middle of my back so it won’t brush on the tattoo.
I get up and walk over to the mirror to inspect his work.
“Very funny asshole!”
“Hey, you said Canadian and well loved. It don’t get any more like that than that!”
There staring back at me in the mirror was a tattoo of the most perfect piece of bacon, Canadian bacon.
Since I couldn’t put my t-shirt down for at least another hour, I was forced to walk around with my normal back fat hanging out (ie: my muffin top previously hidden by my t-shirt) and now this semi-permanent bacon fat.
Again, I must reiterate.
NEVER GET A TATTOO AFTER DRINKING!
It doesn’t matter whether you’re talking about a personal, social, or business relationship, because if you don’t carefully word what is about to squeeze out of your lips, you’re probably going to get screwed.
What you say…better mean exactly what you mean, because words can be misconstrued so easily these days.
If you really want your partner to listen to every word you say…talk in your sleep. Most men will wake to the slightest verbage coming from a woman’s lips once they’re under the covers.
I’ve had a few beneath the duvet, sweaty, roll-about, night-night conversations that have only served to confuse my husband.
“Run….RUN…” (could simply mean I’m about to let one rip, or, the dog has gotten himself into yet another predicament!)
“Touch it and pull back a bloody stub…” (could mean just what it says aka: ‘Hands Off’…or…it could be a prolific hint not to wake me up!)
“That’s on sale, fantastic!” (all men hope to hear this come from their woman’s lips!)
“Oh…..Yes…yes….yes!” (this will keep them paralyzed as they wait for the rest, hoping you’ll whisper their name somewhere in the rest of that phrase.)
On the other, men usually respond best to eye-to-brain, or more likely eye-to-groin sensory tactics.
If you want your man to listen to you, just wear a low-cut top. For many years women have always complained that their man stares at them and never listens to them.
Sure…there’ll be no eye contact, but they’ll be mesmerised long enough to hear every word you say. I know this for a fact.
After years of being a cops and crime reporter, I realized this was the quickest way to ascertain many of the fine details about a case I’d be reporting on. The detectives would be mesmerized, completely enamored with the girls, and would pour their hearts out, which often times led to a phone call later asking me to delete certain information that should not be public yet! Yes, the girls can work their magic just about anywhere and anytime.
Funny thing though, if I ever asked any of these (mostly) male detectives what color my eyes were, they’d often reply, ‘black… with a hint of lace!’
Truthfully, when it comes to communication sometimes you think you’re talking to the wall.
Because sometimes you are talking to the wall.
For instance, if I ask someone if they’re done with their dinner plate, they assume I’m waiting to get up and take it to the kitchen for them.
What that really mean is, get off your lazy damn ass and put it in the kitchen yourself!
Better yet, rinse it and put it in the dishwasher. If I wanted to be a maid, I’d go get a job at some luxury hotel who’d pay me to take your Goddamned plate, and I’d have access to all the free bedtime pillow-top chocolates as an added benefit to the job.
When I say WHAT during an argument, it does not mean that you need to answer. It probably means…you should stop talking. Or at least respond with one of three things.
“Honey, would you like to go out to dinner tonight?”
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?”
“Honey, let me get you another glass of wine!”
When I ask if you have laundry, ditto!
Oh communication is definitely the key to every relationship!
Women love to pontificate about daily happenings even if they’re about completely mundane topics. We like the warm and fuzzy feeling it gives us as we toss about useful and totally ridiculous information.
Men on the other hand keep a cool front. That’s why men are so quick to fall into bed with a woman, even on the first date, because it will usually bring about silence. This is also probably why men fall asleep immediately after sex. Once they’re placated all bets are off.
So don’t believe that bullshit that he won’t respect you if you have sex on the first date.
The worst thing a man can say in the heat of it is C.A.L.M. D.O.W.N!
Not only will this escalate the problem, it will likely be the catalyst for your sleeping on the couch for the next week or so.
Calm down in layman’s terms is the same as saying ‘Shut The Hell Up!’
I’d use this cautiously if I were you. But, if you have the balls to use it, be prepared for the consequences!
‘Chill Out’ is also another verbage that could land you in the dog house…literally!
Women who are told to ‘chill out’ usually do. Meaning, there ain’t no light at the end of the tunnel if you’re expecting a little sum-sum later on. It could lead to a long cold winter in the bedroom.
Oh yes! Words are a funny thing, and not necessarily in a good way!
…are what separate the wild and wonderful from the pack.
Women today are a power to be reckoned with. We can rule the nest as well as we can wreak havoc on the world.
A new study recently released states that there’s ‘three new kind of women’ out there. Only three? Really?
Anyway, first up is the mid-twenties to mid-thirties INDEPENDENT women. She’s doing it her way. Her mantra is get out of my way, fuck with me and I’ll take you out, brainstorming, designer clothes wearing, stiletto capable, thong goddess, single, or single in a relationship kind of gal whose yet to plunge into motherhood.
You know her. She’s your best friend. Nothing’s off-limits. She’s taking the world by storm. She’s not your mom’s mom. She talks about everything from Tampax to Stocks and Bonds.
She is ‘Occupy The World Via Vagina!’
She’s driven by passion like no other. She’s not afraid of the big bad wolf because she is the big bad wolf. HER bite is far superior to her bark, she’s brainy enough and far more likely to utilize her womanly ways when needed to skirt, pounce, instigate, take by surprise, or render useless any one trying to stand in her way.
She can stop time simply by wearing an unpadded bra under her T-shirt on a cold day.
She’s gonna make it or break it so you’d better get out-of-the-way or she’s likely to plow right through you. She’s put off child-bearing in order to make her mark in the world. She’s curious and furious. She’s just as at home in the kitchen as she is in the corporate world. She can flip flapjacks as easily as she can flip you off should you try to become a roadblock. She’s that ‘don’t fuck with me, and no I don’t have a headache, I’m just busy’ kinda gal!
Love her, but stay the hell out of her way while she’s blazing the trail, because if you don’t, you’re likely to get left in the wake of her voracious appetite for life and all things wonderful.
Her flame will never be doused! This is her time to herd the cattle so to speak! She’s going to rock it until her maternal clock kicks in and says, okay, time to put a bun in the oven. But don’t think that that alone will stop her, make her dead in the water, because women like this cannot be turned off of their life by their birth canal! She’ll likely be finalizing a big business deal right up until that last push and then…….voila, she’s mom now! This doesn’t stop her, it just changes the game plan.
Second up is the mid-thirites to mid-forties Over Achieving Mom. Now, she too can bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. The difference is, she’s still able to pay for the bacon herself. She’s still proving that she’s got life under control and can do it all.
She’s still in pretty good shape and has become furiously adept at disguising any remaining baby bulges that have lingered, because altering the worlds perception of her is NOT. AN. OPTION! She’s the “Thanks Spanx” generation woman. She’s old enough to be comfortable letting it all hang out, but she’s competitive enough still to say ‘watch out world, I’m still here, still rocking it, don’t fuck with me, because even though she may be home flipping pancakes or frying eggs, she can still muster up enough strength to wrap the spatula around your bloody neck without missing a beat.
She’s likely the one to take this challenge for what it is. She’ll take advantage of her Mom-ness and market that just as easily as she’d market a new product. She’s still got it, and trying to fuck with that could lead to repercussions no man should or would want to suffer under. She’ll love you as easily as she could kill you. She’s mamma bear now, leader of the pack. Large and in charge. Having a vaginal birth put’s her at the front of the pack because she’d discovered that she can endure anything. She’s a train heading down the track, horn blaring, light’s flashing, and still has the ability to plow through anything that gets stuck on the track. She may slow down here and there, take a breath, enjoy the view, nap in the middle of the day, but when she’s on it……she’s ON IT!
She’s got it all. She’s achieved Goddess Level. She’s an Alpha Lover. She’s still got the bull by the horns and she’s not afraid to use them. She doesn’t care what you think. She’s survived work, children, and aging. No one’s opinion holds water to her. She’s as tech savvy as the younger generation, but is far ahead of the crowd because her insomnia allows her so much more computer time while the rest of the world is resting. She’s into the finer things of life yet has no problem dumpster diving for hidden treasures. She’s softened enough, sometimes literally, yet her will holds steadfast in that she can shine, stand out, flourish under any circumstance. She still does it her way no matter what.
She’s earned the badge of mid-life and devours it.
She’s already developing her second act. Her new self emerges with ease. She can take a day off when she wants because her train rolls steadily along. After all, she built the tracks herself.
She doesn’t have to push as hard as her earlier years. She’s set herself up in such a way that pressure is only something that a doctor checks. She’s got it all now. Work, family, love, money, friends. She’s become the Matriarch of her expanded world. She’s back at the helm and running her life smoother, slower, but with the same passion as always. She hasn’t forgotten either that she can still stop time with that unpadded bra and T-shirt. The T-shirt may have to be slightly longer to accommodate things that have moved south but she okay with that. She’s gonna rock it till there ain’t nothin left.
I remember one year in particular when hubby brought home this tiny little, sweetly wrapped box. I was atwitter with anticipation.
I ripped off the wrapping and looked at the box.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the child side of myself felt insulted, but being the nice girl that I am, I kept my tongue in check. Maybe it meant nothing, a harmful little gift he’d found out about from…..Mmm……………
Now I know there is nothing sexier than those puffy pink lips that have become so famous, especially here in Hollywood. But Really? Really?
I accepted the gift graciously, then spent the next hour looking at my lips in the mirror, trying to figure out why they needed to be plumper. Apparently, I have inadequate lips. Bastard!
My theory in life has always been, ‘if a little is good then a lot would be better’! I mean, seriously, how much plumping can this stuff really do.
Well–some of us find out these lessons the hard way.
I decided to try it the next morning.
I work out early and usually look like crap so I thought, what the heck, let’s give this stuff a test run. I brushed a thick layer over my lips, then headed off to the gym. I work out at Curves (for obvious reasons–Actually, it’s just that I can’t afford the clothing you need to work out at 24-hour-fitness). The gals at my gym have no problem saying what’s on their mind. And under most circumstances I love this.
Anyway, about ten minutes into my routine, one of the gals said, “Pssst, you’ve got something on your chin.”
When I reached up to wipe whatever it was away, my finger poked my lip. WHAT? WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?
I got off the machine and dashed to the ladies room. When I looked in the mirror……there ‘IT’ was! My bottom lip had plumped so much it had taken over the lower part of my face. That would explain why every time I took a drink of water on the way to the gym it would trickle down my chin.
I looked like I was ready for my Hollywood debut on ‘Housewives Of Beverly Hills Surgeons’!
When I got home, I showed the hubby what a real lip plumber looked like.
He didn’t see it coming! Actually he couldn’t see anything for about a week until the swelling went down and he could open his eye.
Another year he got me one of those ‘Naughty Or Nice Masks’! I actually thought that was cute. It was soft, and pink, with fuzzy stuff all around the edges. What the hell I thought. Let the games begin.
The problem ended up being ‘the element of surprise’, thus brining out the naughty side of the gift!
I startle easily.
I could not see him.
I did not hear him.
When he touched me with his cold hand, my knee-jerk reaction put me in full Karate mode.
Doctor told him the cast would only be temporary–5- 6 weeks at most!
Last year, hubby came home unexpectedly in the middle of the day, so I decided to take things into my own hands.
I said, “Darlin, instead of a gift, let’s just play around!”
He lit up like a fucking firecracker.
Next thing I knew…………..we were playing 18 holes at the Country Club!!!
There were several other things that came and went in a flurry over the many years we’ve been married. Things like arousal oils, sexy books, and scents for the body. We’ve soaked in the tub of bubbles while drinking a ton of bubbles. We’ve lit candles in the bedroom, which is always romantic (except that one time the curtain caught on fire) . We’ve taken walks holding hands. We’ve dined out. We’ve stayed in after sending the kids off somewhere else just so we could have the house to ourselves. We’ve really tried to make the best of Valentines Day!
To be honest, I give him a lot of credit for his efforts. He is a romantic guy. Bless his heart. I do so love him!
But honesty, I think Valentines Day has become too commercial. The ads on TV, on billboards, in the newspapers and magazines, and on the radio are all about throwing cash at something that may or may not be appreciated. There’s too much pressure to please!
If only we could simplify this?
As the old saying goes…”No woman will ever be truly happy on Valentines Day unless she finds a man with a chocolate penis that ejaculates money!”
…is not something I’ve thought of in a long time, mainly because the kids are grown now.
I’d like to think it was something I could still do, because God knows I could use a break from them, but alas, the time for this has come and gone!
They (the children) haven’t gotten out yet, but they have matured some. Well, matured may be giving them a little too much credit at this point. Let’s just say they’ve encountered several birthdays since the old camp days.
God I love ‘em, but boy, what I could do with their rooms if they were empty. Just sayin…
When they were little, I’d send them off with their cute little bags, their socks stuffed with snacks I knew wouldn’t be allowed. I’d help them sneak in soda so they could maintain their sugar level. I was bad! But I was smart enough never to give them cell phones. Last thing I wanted was for those little buggers to pester me.
But….my cell-phone-less children loved me for it!
I was the Goddess who provided them with a sufficient amount of junk/crap/bad food, thus in their minds, I was good.
I was the perfect mother!
I had IT!
I rocked their world and that’s all that mattered!
But I knew.
I was the devil in disguise is what I was!
But I didn’t give a flying fuck. It got them out of the house and out of sight for a while. I could R.E.L.A.X!
I wouldn’t have to pick up their dirty clothes, or make their bed, or cook for them, or chauffeur them, or do their homework, or drive them to school, or the dentist, or the doctor, or the park, or to a play date, or entertain and babysit their friends, which was often the case.
I never took the blame when a zit popped up on their face, nor when they’d spike a little belly fat.
Never, ever, once, did I blame it on the sugar or my poor choices.
I always put it back on them. Told them it was because they never kept their face clean. It was plain old dirt that caused those zits, and as for the belly fat, well, that was caused by their lack of exercise, lazy little sots that they were. It was the damned video games that would take the fall for any excess bulges they encountered. I’ll be damned if they think I’m going to take the blame for that.
So back to me…
I hadn’t really thought about sending myself off to sleep away camp until recently. It would be just what the doctor ordered!
No kids, no husband, no dog, no house, no house cleaning, no phone, no need to be anywhere, (kids) no…Mom where’s the…can we go…can I have…can you get me…will you…why can’t I… (husband) where’s dinner…can we walk now…how about a blow job…did you iron my shirt… (dog) where’s my damned breakfast…why isn’t the front door open…can I have a treat…where’s my toy…I need to walk now I have to poop…
Just thinking about eliminating all of the above makes. my. nipples. hard!
At his point in my life it takes a bit of effort to make that happen…but the thought of sleep away camp somehow sounds sooooo intriguing right now because I’m a homebody, a housewife, a mate, a mother, a teacher, a mentor, a negotiator, a referee, a sex slave, an organizer, a multi-tasker, a confidant, and chief cook and bottle washer.
Many times, in the middle of the night, (and I mean the middle of the night when the moon is straight over the house and most normal people are still sleeping), I am sitting at my computer googling far off places, people and things that are exotic, erotic, and far from home (should I also say far from my comfort zone?).
My imagination takes a journey (as it often does). I can visualize myself, off in the distance, where the water and sand come to life on my computer screen.
I’m lying on a beach (or depending on your budget an unfamiliar well stuffed couch). You’ve got a tall cool drink in one hand and a delicious novel (insert cough) or at least something novel in the other. Oh my! You let your mind wander around someone else’s words (or…well never mind) and you’re transported to wherever the story/person/thing takes you…
Meals magically appears before you, served by some young stud/man/boy who no doubtedly doubles as an actor later on in his day. You can’t help notice the tight black pants, the crisp white shirt, the smell of freshly showered skin, the…
It ain’t ever going to happen but dream we shall.
You are served morning, noon, and night. (again this is where a good imagination comes in handy)
There is nothing to pick up, clean up, put up with, or put out to.
It’s just you and this delicious dream.
What is that I hear off in the distance as the sun crests the east.
I’ll be back.
I have to get coffee for the hubby.