'...has got it goin' on...'

"His triceps are perfection. Look at them!" I leaned over and whispered to the woman seated next to me about the stunning man seated in front of us.

"They are more than perfection," the woman whispered back. "I just can't think of a word right now that exceeds perfection because I'm overwhelmed imagining how stunning his abs must be. I bet his abs are tight."

"Oh, you KNOW they're tight. Look at that waist! It's so narrow! He probably has that sexy little cut thing right where the torso and waist connects. What do they call that cut?" I asked her.

"Oh, they call that cut whatever this bit of finesse's name is," she responded.

Compelled to high five this woman, I turned to face my cohort.

And came face to face with my mom. The woman who never spoke to me about sex when I was growing up. The woman in front of whom I do not curse because I do not wish to be reprimanded. The woman who would have me believe she delivered me and my sister as the result of magic and not by means of reproductive evil.

And I shuddered a little bit. My "you rock, girl!" high five fell, undelivered, back into my lap.

"So, yeah. You feel a little creepy now?" I asked

"We shall never speak of this again," Mom responded, fully unable to make eye contact with me. Thankfully.

"Agreed," I said. "But seriously. Those triceps!"

"I know," Mom sighed. "Imagine the dips he can do..."

Fifteen admiring minutes later, we finally kicked Mom's mandate into effect.

And I still will never curse in front of her.