There’s a group of Mom’s I get together with every once and a while.
I call them The Hot Mom’s. Mainly, I call them this because I am too lazy too name them all to my husband when he asks who I am going out for dinner with. They also get this name because for the most part they wear skinny jeans, cowl sweaters and boots. And they look damn good doing it.
Sometimes I look at them and think… “Go Fuck Yourselves.”
But, mostly I like them.
A while back, we had a Hot Mom’s Night. As usual I was a wreck. I had a hole in my ballet flat. My coat was ugly and so old it came from a radio station I once worked at. Plus, my purse was old and disgusting AND from the wrong season.
I figure these women still like me for me and understand that I never will be a Hot Mom. I just won’t. I don’t know, maybe I will again, but just not any time soon. There was a day that I did know what was in style. But, that is now long gone.
Sort of like Bruce Willis’ hair.
And I am dealing with it the same way he is. Just forget about it and keep working on having a smouldering stare.
Damn he is pretty. Excuse me, I am just going to kiss my computer monitor for a few minutes… err seconds.
Almost a year ago, I was out for sushi with The Hot Mom’s when the topic of sex came up.
They talked about, “having sex when you are tired”, “having sex and stopping to nurse the baby” and “having sex in the living room because you are sharing the bed with the baby”.
And all this was fun and hilarious until I realized that all these women were having sex with their husbands.
And I was not. Sort of like the time they were all having sex during the day. And I again, was not.
I wasn’t because Baby Bot was 5 months old.
What a coinky dink. That was the last time we had sex.
So, I told the Hot Mom’s. And they looked at me with some understanding but mostly shock.
The look of shock is what stuck with me. Whoa, this is really bad. Five months is a really long time. Hey, wait, they actually look really concerned for me. This is really not good.
I was embarrassed.
It doesn’t matter if Zed and I did have sex that night. What matters is that my friends think that I had sex.
The next morning I group messaged them on Facebook and told them that I had “sealed the deal last night.”
Apparently, I am a 15 year old boy.