Why Yes, You May Rub My Ass
Wore my new-thought-it-was-cute-until-I-wore-it-to-work top out today. Salesgirls were TRIPPING over themselves to help me. Which, in my experience, is usually because you are cute and look like you spend money on yourself. Or because you need help. Since I actually put on make up this morning I am thinking it might be the cute thing.
And about forty women stopped me to compliment my hair.
And one tried to rub my ass. Which has happened before. It's the jeans that I have. Apparently, they make the ass look rubbable.
It's just never happened to me with a housewife and her one year old twins before.
That was a little odd.
Fridays are really mellow for me since I don't work. I usually sleep in. Watch daytime TV. Run errands and then either go the library or the mall.
Both places have the same Friday afternoon clientel. Stay-at-home moms and their kids. It is interesting to me. Because I look at these women, all in fleece, with their kids in overalls, and wonder if I will ever have the patience and selflessness to be one of them.
Self-awareness tells me no.
I am more likely to become one of those moms who uses her job to hide from her kids.
There has to be a healthy compromise in there somewhere.
Possibly.
Here is hoping it can wait eight more years to find out.
