my kids' mom has got it goin' on. apparently.
The other night, I met a friend at Starbucks for coffee and catching up. Over a pumpkin spice latte for me (Starbucks? Call me. I will totally sleep with you on the first date) and hot tea for my friend, we engaged in random discussions quite often punctuated by uproarious laughter. While taking a breath following one such hilarious moment, my friend settled back in her chair and gave me the once over while peering above the rim of her tea cup. Then, leaning across the table toward me, she declared, "You know, you're looking very MILFy tonight."
Her assessment caused me to choke on my latte, sending drops of its delicious crack-like goodness spilling down the front of my shirt. Because that's apparently how smooth and seductive we MILF types are.
Blotting away at my misfortune (And/or my friend's unfortunate lost eyesight) afforded me the opportunity review what it was about me on this particular evening that provoked such a remark. In my haste to get out the door to meet her, I'd doffed my sensible work shoes (Oh, New Balance black cross trainers in 10 wide, how you cuddle my feet in cushiony bliss for those oh so taxing three hour retail shifts) and slipped into a pair of black heeled boots hoping to improve upon my work pants ensemble (Mmmm...work pants! Tres sexy!), Also, perhaps there was some heave to the cleave, but nothing so out of the ordinary that MILFs everywhere would feel compelled to bow down at my (unpedi'd) feet and crown me their new queen.
Foregoing the napkin in favor of blotting my boobs with a Tide To Go stain removal pen (which, let it be known, doesn't work against the mighty Starbucks pumpkin spice latte), I glanced up at my friend and demanded she retract her statement immediately.
"Oh, I beg to differ," she stated. "Without question, you are positively MILF-esque!"
"It was because I just looked up at you with demure eyes through batting lashes, isn't it?" I asked.
"Well, there is that," she responded. "But it's the way you wave your hand in front of your face when you laugh, too. And your hair. Your hair is...."
"Too porny, isn't it! My hair is WAY too porny! I KNEW IT!" I injected. "Gah! I was worried about that!"
At that point a hush fell between us, and we may have tee-hee'd and tittered a bit, unsure of this new ground we'd forged in our friendship. On one hand, I wanted to embrace this woman who still can't say the word 'penis', but the other hand figured maybe she needed a little space. We sat silently for a moment, and I blew the steam off my fresh pumpkin spice latte (Seriously, Starbucks, I'll even make breakfast the next morning. How do you like your eggs?) while pondering my options, which included:
(A) going full-on late night Cinemax movie-mode, bursting with hints of girl-on-girl action (And who's kidding who here? All late night Cinemax movies have girl-on-girl action)(I mean, I assume so), thus dictating my next move be to dip my finger into the whipped cream atop my latte, pulled said finger gently through my pursed lips, and then trace it atop my friend's hand (or, you know, whatever), and suggest we go somewhere a little more private. Wink wink and all that.
(B) pretending we're the stars of a really heinous sitcom and engage in a hilarious spit take (or, you know, whatever) upon hearing her words, prompting the studio audience to fall into fits of laughter, and eventually make "You know, you're looking very MILFy tonight," become the show's initially hilarious, yet soon rapidly annoying catchphrase. Sort of like "The tribe has spoken," only cuter.
To be clear, regardless of the MILF-like mystique I was apparently emitting on this particular evening, I didn't think my friend really wished to begin engaging in any carnal delights with me before we had to pick up our respective kids from school each afternoon. I'm just not used to being referred to as such a fantastic (or, you know, whatever) mom. Even Tool Man refrains from referring to me as such, instead saying I'm his WWRLMDTIHTBHFFTFDOMANTPMTSBWIWTGHNA (Woman Who Randomly Let's Me Do Things I Had To Beg Her For For The First Decade Of Marriage And Now That's Pretty Much The Standard By Which I Want To Get Her Naked, Amen). In fact, he chuckled when I relayed this story to him later that evening, an unfortunate move which resulted in me not calling and/or making him my DILF (Which was a crying shame because I was hopped up on two lattes).
When the time came later that evening for my friend and I to part ways, we stood laughing in the parking lot, and set a date to get together again soon. "So, I guess this is goodnight," I said.
"Yes, I suppose it is," she replied, moving in closer.
"So...um...are we supposed to kiss now?" I gleefully inquired.
"I think a hug would be OK," she said.
"You just want to feel me up, don't you?" I cheered, jutting out my stained-sticked chest for her under the glow of the street lamp.
"Totally!" she cheered louder.
...then I ran my finger down her arm as we untangled from our embrace, and whispered, "I'll see you Tuesday night!"
And that, my friends, is the tribe having spoken.