You know how it is when you're smoking in your truck listening to Led Zeppelin outside of your daughters swim lesson at some crazy swim school your mother enrolled her in at some country club? And all of the other mothers are giving you dirty looks through the window because you'd rather watch your child swim while listening to 'Black Dog' with a smoke than inside the "Parents Room" listening to tan people in Keds talking about Karly's breaststroke and scented candle parties?
And while you're trying to figure out what kind of secret, suburban orgy "Candle Party" is code for several of the tan mothers walk out with their kids and one of them looks at you as she passes by and does that little fake cough that nonsmokers do when they want to make us feel bad?
And you think-"Guess what Spay Tan? Even though I was raised in the South-so I could write a thesis on the subtle, complex nuances of passive aggressive gestures-I didn't inherit the "Passive" just the "Aggressive."
So you say-
"That sounds like a tuberculosis cough. Are you sure you should be here with all these children? It's really contagious." and blow a little smoke her way.
And she gives you this tight little smile and says she's bothered by the smoke.
Then she looks into the back of your truck and raises her eyebrows at the bag of Doritos, shovel, one child's shoe and a half of a cucumber you stole from your neighbors garden.
So you give her that look-the one that says-
I'm not like you. Look at my crazy eyes.
So you say
"Maybe you should shut up and get into your SUV more quickly then. You know what else makes you cough like that? Late stage syphilis."
And she almost runs to the car but then she leans over after she's buckled in and shouts through the open window-
"I can't believe you said the F word in front of my children!"
And even though you have to shout because Robert Plant is singing really loud about Ringwraiths riding around places-you do shout-because she deserves an apology-
"Shit! You're right! So sorry!"
And then you turn it up really loud as a public service because this neighborhood needs Led Zeppelin.
Then when you are driving home you see a text from a Match.com date that you saw *exactly* twice last year that reads-
Come over. I have booze and weed.
Wow, you think,that sounds tempting. Then we can do whippets behind the gym while I give you an HJ. Oh, and you can play me a really long, painful song on your guitar.
Why on earth would that guy think that's appropriate?
Then you remember that the second time you met him it was for for french fries and then you guys made out in the Whataburger parking lot.
Then the next message that rolled across the screen was from another Match.com bachelor. It said-
"I feel stab-y tonight"
That's not a red flag.
So while it seems like most people lurch around all crazy after their divorce, wildly celebrating National Drinking Months, Whore Week, and Spontaneous Public Weeping Day--I guess the party is over now.
I wonder what July will be?
I really want to file an extension on National Drinking Month-
but instead I will take my mothers advice and make July "Act Like A Lady" month-
"Do you even own a hairbrush? Have you completely stopped shaving your legs? Are you drunk?"
In July-we will all floss, remember to shave the necessary areas and brush our hair.
In July I will not forget to change clothes for three days straight. I will put sheets on the bed instead of just throwing a blanket over the mattress. I will stop chewing my nails down to the quick. I will fold the laundry and put leftovers in tupperware immediately.I will not pluck my eyebrows while I'm high. I will not try to text while I'm in a bubble bath-high. I will stop having cuss fights with trophy wives in strip mall parking lots.
And-sadly-in July there will be no dry humping in the Whataburger parking lot.
For the love of God, entertain me.
8 hours ago