And I ain't talking about sex.
Yesterday as I picked up my son from school my friend said they were going out at seven and I was to come along. It was just (supposed to be) for dinner. So of course by ten or so we found ourselves darkening the door of a local pool hall/dj place, drunk on wine and Cosmos, our bellies barely rounded by teensy servings of outrageously expensive food.
Four hours later we were still dancing, grabbing every half-way cute, tolerant college boy we could find to do the grind.
"Hey mom," some sassy college boy said to me, in a valiant effort to give me a complex about my age.
"I am a mom," I responded, "and also the best fuck you're never gonna have."
He actually looked speechless. Little fucker.
My friend asked me as the night neared its bloody end (literally, but that's a whole other story), "You good to stay awhile?"
Me: "Is the Pope Catholic? Does the accordian player wear a pinky ring?" As if she doesn't know I'm always the last man standing.
Two seconds later: Ka-CHUNK. Lights up. Get the hell out.
So we did the brilliant thing of giving some guy a ride home. To his credit he was a firefighter from Spain. Nice guy, and I'm still alive so I guess he was harmless. Ask nicely and I'll give you his email address, which he repeated so many times I memorized it. His name is Alejandro. At least that's how he pronounced it. You can call him Alex.
Hey, I said he was harmless. I said nothing about me being harmless.