A few weeks ago I went to one of Mr. Stinky's hockey games to watch his team lose horribly to the underdog. That's not the point. I was in the restaurant/lounge/viewing area above the rinks and it was full of spectators and families. Little kids running around, babies squalling, mommies playing referree and everyone else. Luckily for me, H was watching Bug Bug at home so I didn't have to spend the hour running after anybody. Yah, my kid's a crazy non-stop ball of energy but you already knew that.
As my eyes wandered around (which was pretty often seeing's how it was obvious Mr. Stinky's team would not be mounting any comeback campaigns of the year), I caught sight of a random guy checking me out. Flattery fluttered about until I turned to look behind me and spotted two very pink and blonde baby Britneys with heaving cleavages and bosoms practically laid out on platters o' silver. Seriously, their chests were prepared for those shots of alcoholic beverages everyone does at rowdy drinking parties.
Yah, there really isn't a point to this story other than how perfectly round and pushed out those boobies were. It makes me worry what I'm going to do when Bug Bug hits puberty and wants to leave the house dressed in strands of spider webs and little else because that's what the trend is and no it's not cold and I don't need a jacket and mooooom, if I don't wear this all the other kids will think I'm uncool. My parents didn't have to worry about me in that respect, I was pretty butch until I hit my 20s and friends were surprised to discover there were boobs underneath all the layers when I finally came out wearing just a tank top.
What is that saying about having kids? "When you have a boy there's only one dick, when you have a girl you gotta worry about all the other dicks." Shit.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment