roar of the milf

The clock is ticking! I failed typing in high school or never took it I can't remember! I don't use my pinkies! I could really use them right now to blog faster, but OH WELL. Were you at Target this morning? Did I see you there? Yes that was me, I was the one in the baby wipes aisle who ate the crackers someone left open unwrapped on the shelf. I was hungry.


They were Keebler Club crackers, those ubiquitous golden rectangles that have withstood the ages, the onslaught of neon sprinkled snacks, the ones we never bought when I was a child but taste so buttery fat-licious that I wonder now why. That was me, I was the one who, after eating two, took the whole cellophaned section along for my shopping spree. They got me through the last leg of my trip, when my funds were insufficient and I had to call hubby to transfer money on-line, and they got me through the uplifting conversation with the horny floor worker who helped me to my car with the bags and boxes.

I reached into the cart for a bag and he said, I got it, and I said, I don't mind, and he said, Oh you like to work? And I said, well, I don't know, don't quote me on that, and I thought and recalibrated and said, I like to do my share (which is only true because I feel guilty if I don't) and he said, well I hope your share is everything so I can sit on the couch and I said, oh no, I'm the princess in my house, and he said, is there any chance you'll become queen soon? and I said you know? I think I am, and he said, you getting married? and I said, do you see those boxes of diapers you're holding? I have two kids, which in my naive fairy-tale head means, of course I'm married! Which is good news and then he said, and this is the one I will take smiling to my grave it's so cheesy-wonderful, What do you do for a living, work out? Because you look good, and I said, it's breastfeeding! Thinking, let this horny little elf learn that breasts are not just playthings for his lame ass, but provide food for tender babies and then I said, dollars sweating in my palm, do you take tips? and he said TITS? And I groaned, like why, how, HOW was it so easy for him to say tits to me?

But I guess my little breastfeeding educational ploy just came back to bitchslap me. I told him he'd better find his own queen soon so he can use all those great lines on her and oh, it really must be my day, did I mention I'm kids-free? because as well as the Target floor worker sleazebucket there's a horny construction worker named Greg on the corner of 7th avenue and 16th street in Park Slope if anyone's interested.

And yes, I enjoy the fact that some days I am a MILF, but I really really wanted to run him over at the same time, like do his co-workers think he's cool for shouting across the street his name and availability to me? I asked him if he gets extra pay, a promotion for hitting on, what did I call us, girls? and you know, he said he did. These construction companies really have to reduce incentive. Or maybe they can just advertise on their hard hats, "Horny low-life." Ugh, it's all so cliche. But you know what? My back felt mysteriously supple and pain-free on my drive home.