Pulling. It. OFF.

Boo is spending the night with my parents tonight, and Red is at work.

I am alone, people.

This never happens. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been absolutely, 100 percent alone since Boo was born. It’s an odd feeling–one I’m not sure I can get used to–because when I laid down today to take a nap (bliss, how I miss thee!) I couldn’t turn off the mommy hearing I’ve honed over the last two years. I woke up every fifteen minutes convinced that I had heard Boo yelling at me from his bedroom. Of course there was no one there, so either I need to see a psychiatrist, or we’ve got a poltergeist with a shitty sense of humor.

My vote is on the poltergeist.

I didn’t have any plans for tonight, so I put on my five minute face and went to Walgreens to get a movie from Redbox. And then I stopped at the liquor store across the street. Because why not?

While I paying for the finest box of white wine $8 can buy, the cashier started talking about the dogs she bred.  I told her how we were thinking about buying a dog once we had a house with a fenced backyard and somehow the conversation drifted to the point where I was all, “Well, at least if you die, your dogs won’t eat you.” She looked at me kind of funny, and then I said, “You know, because a cat will. Your dead body is fair game to housecat who hasn’t been fed in a couple of days.” She looked at me, handed my receipt, and told me to have a nice night. I took that to mean, “Have a nice night. Anywhere away from here.”

Clearly, I need to get out of the house more often.

On the way home, I got stopped at a stoplight that takes FOREVER to change. In terms you can understand, that’s that’s all of Lady Gaga’s Telephone and about half of Born This Way. I was singing Poker Face at the top of my lungs (hey, don’t judge) when a car full of college age guys pulled up beside me. One of them in the backseat motioned for me to roll the window down.

“What are you doin’ tonight, Mama?” one of them asked. He high-fived one of his friends and the rest laughed raucously. Their car practically reeked of Eau de Natty Light. I pointed to my the big fricking diamond on my engagement ring and shrugged my shoulders.

“He ain’t gonna know nothin’, Mama! Let’s go!”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered. His come-on, no matter how booze-fueled it was, meant that I’m pulling off this mommy thing. It’s my own version of the red boots on How I Met Your Mother.

This MILF thing? I'm pulling. It. OFF.

Or at least I’m pulling it off in the presence of dim lighting where no one can see the ginormous carseat that takes up over half of my backseat and my Mexican knife fight-esque pregnancy stretch marks. Whatever. It still counts.


Edit: Nope. Never mind. (And fuuuuuuuck.) They were clearly under the influence of tonight’s Super Moon. Like werewolves during their special time of month, these boys  couldn’t control themselves. Meh. It was fun to think about, any way.

Image courtesy CBS’s How I Met Your Mother

About Chelsie

Mommy. Beauty product whore. Plastic lawn flamingo enthusiast. Nosy neighbor. One day novelist.
This entry was posted in Boo, No one else will think this is funny, Red, Weirdness. Bookmark the permalink.

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