Memoirs of a Single Parent

J. is out of town again. He's been gone a lot lately and I am beginning to get used to life as a single parent. The house is a mess, the kids have been eating crap every night for dinner and I am maintaining my sanity by drinking and smoking.

J. left Friday for a bachelor party in Memphis. I had a sleepover for A. The girls stayed up until 11:30 and were up at 6:15. I made it due to a three hour mandatory nap on Saturday. Luckily I had an evening out planned. Sunday the kids and I had to go to church. I had volunteered to set up the volunteer appreciation breakfast after the 9:00 Mass. I had not realized that J. would be out of town. I thought about "forgetting" but decided that since I have done very little this year that I should go.

I got everyone ready to go and by the time I arrived I was sweating and yelling and cursing. All of the GMs that were there were fresh as flowers and smiling at their well-groomed children. We went into the church and C. started with me. As the priest was entering and the singing began, he thought that maybe it was karaoke day at church and started singing Shrek songs at the top of his lungs. We spent the rest of the Mass in the back of the church.

Back in the cafeteria after Mass I chased my children, yelled at my children and sweated. At one point one of the GMs told me that she didn't recognize me at first because I wasn't wearing my baseball cap. She really meant that she had never seen me clean before. Finally the head lady was tired of hearing me yell and sent me home. Thank God.

J. got home Sunday night. They went to the Civil Rights Museum and ate fried chicken on this bachelor party. I guess once you get to a certain age, the appeal of strip clubs is replaced by food and a good night's sleep. I'm glad I'm not the only one getting old.

Well, next Friday J. and I are celebrating our 10th anniversary. We have a lovely night planned so I thought that I would purchase some sexy lingerie for the occasion. I went to Victoria's Secret today. I should not go there. Everything I saw was created for someone besides me. Everything I picked up, I had to stop, picture myself in and then carefully replace on the rack. At one point I probably could have gotten away with this stuff. Now, not so much. Half the stuff I did not even know how to put on. The very gay salesman asked if he could help me. I told him I didn't think so.

I want you to visualize this scene:
It's dark, romantic music playing, glasses of champagne poured, candles lit (must be extinguished before sleep as to not be a fire hazard). I walk into the room, wearing nothing but a bustier and thong. The roll of fat on my stomach SQUEEZED out between the top of the thong and the bottom of the bustier. (I have to hike up the bustier so that it does not put too much pressure on my herniated belly button) I glide across the room, thighs rubbing together. I twirl, to show my love the beauty of me. The moonlight reflects off the mayonnaise white of my ass. I stretch out on the bed and raise my arms above my head and rest upon my chicken flap. I paint a lovely picture. I love J. Can't do that to him. Look much better in my Red Sox t-shirt and boxers.