I drink a fair bit. As a result, I smoke cigarettes a little. A fair bit.
Let me not get ahead of myself.
Last Tuesday, I drank a fair bit. And as a girl is prone to do, I scoured the shower, AND that part of the flat stove top that gets a little bit black and grainy when my pans runneth over, AND the wine-stained tee I had neglected for weeks in my pseudo-hamper.
Tipsy and singing and carefree, I Swiffered the hardwood with wild abandon. I twisted my hair into a sloppy knot and washed all traces of makeup from my speckled face. I slung my bra into the churning washer. And my underwear, while I was at it. At day's end the apartment was immaculate. I was not.
And after receiving a phone call from a beautiful friend, I stumbled my way to the outdoors in running shorts and a grungy tee to smoke a cigarette. Or three.
And then it happened.
Cute Neighborhood Boy with Dog, the man I have smiled hello to for months, who I've watched come and go with his hybrid/mutt of a canine, approached.
The week before a Mom with two little ones on scooters forced praise through her teeth so as not to be spotted talking about CNB w/D by CNB w/D, "The guy. With the dog." Her face looked pained. "Ee's going to run ento traffic if ee keeps checking you out."
"The guy?" I questioned, mimicing the painful Joker face as if this was indeed necessary. "Looking? Dog? At ee?" Incredulous. It is my way.
And now he was here. And my breasts were at Bea Athur level. And as he stopped in front of me I realized I had three dead cigarette butts laid at my grimy feet. And no underwear on. And pimples. And I was tipsy.
And I had a growth.
Post Flashback #2: You see, three weeks earlier I approached my Mom and Dad about a bump on my knee.
"What is it?" I begged. "Please say you've seen one before. Psoriasis? Tetter? Someone must have some Baby Gold Bond."
"It's a wart," my mother offered nonchalantly, shoving my knee out of her sight in favor of the more stimulating HGTV.
"OH, HELL'S NO," I spit. "That's not a wart. It might be the spawn of some alien done come down and impregnated my knee, but that's no wart, be-otch!"
It turned out to be a wart.
$13.67 and a CVS coupon for Compound W later it peeled off my body.
But not before CNB w/D spotted me with a tell-tale, full-blown wart bandage.
And yet he stopped to say hello. And introduce himself. Which was nice.
How nice to know there still are men who like their women with Betty White breasts.
Let me not get ahead of myself.
Last Tuesday, I drank a fair bit. And as a girl is prone to do, I scoured the shower, AND that part of the flat stove top that gets a little bit black and grainy when my pans runneth over, AND the wine-stained tee I had neglected for weeks in my pseudo-hamper.
Tipsy and singing and carefree, I Swiffered the hardwood with wild abandon. I twisted my hair into a sloppy knot and washed all traces of makeup from my speckled face. I slung my bra into the churning washer. And my underwear, while I was at it. At day's end the apartment was immaculate. I was not.
And after receiving a phone call from a beautiful friend, I stumbled my way to the outdoors in running shorts and a grungy tee to smoke a cigarette. Or three.
And then it happened.
Cute Neighborhood Boy with Dog, the man I have smiled hello to for months, who I've watched come and go with his hybrid/mutt of a canine, approached.
The week before a Mom with two little ones on scooters forced praise through her teeth so as not to be spotted talking about CNB w/D by CNB w/D, "The guy. With the dog." Her face looked pained. "Ee's going to run ento traffic if ee keeps checking you out."
"The guy?" I questioned, mimicing the painful Joker face as if this was indeed necessary. "Looking? Dog? At ee?" Incredulous. It is my way.
And now he was here. And my breasts were at Bea Athur level. And as he stopped in front of me I realized I had three dead cigarette butts laid at my grimy feet. And no underwear on. And pimples. And I was tipsy.
And I had a growth.
Post Flashback #2: You see, three weeks earlier I approached my Mom and Dad about a bump on my knee.
"What is it?" I begged. "Please say you've seen one before. Psoriasis? Tetter? Someone must have some Baby Gold Bond."
"It's a wart," my mother offered nonchalantly, shoving my knee out of her sight in favor of the more stimulating HGTV.
"OH, HELL'S NO," I spit. "That's not a wart. It might be the spawn of some alien done come down and impregnated my knee, but that's no wart, be-otch!"
It turned out to be a wart.
$13.67 and a CVS coupon for Compound W later it peeled off my body.
But not before CNB w/D spotted me with a tell-tale, full-blown wart bandage.
And yet he stopped to say hello. And introduce himself. Which was nice.
How nice to know there still are men who like their women with Betty White breasts.
39 Comments:
Since you didn't mention putting underwear and bra back on, I assumed that you were sitting out on your deck, naked. Which would, indeed, have made for some interesting conversation with your neighbor.
Isn't it funny that the person you most want to impress often sees you at the very worst.
Hotness. We've all been there.
The fact that he approached you even when you weren't at your finest is a good sign, lady... have you run into him since?
ummm so details please.
Hot? Not so hot? What woman?? Whaaaaat!!!??
(p.s. it's almost the weekend. everytime I think about the weekend I get a little giddy. eeeeeeeee!!!)
Woo Hoo! Hey, if he likes you in that state (and I'm sure you're exaggerating about the breasts - which is anyway? Bea Arthur or Betty White?), imagine what he's going to thing once you've bathed. And he has a dog. And he's cute.
These are all good signs.
Because you were approachable. Try that attitude more often, he'll come around more.
You guys are hilar. Mystery, I forgot that I was going to put a line in this post that asked you to create one of your famous Photoshop drawings to capture the moment.
And cute; oh yes, very cute.
I'm a tad bit confused. Were you outside smoking cigarettes in the nude? No bra, no underwear? That's one hell of an impression to make on the neighbors.
Nah, oversized tee and running shorts. I'll add that to the post . . . ;)
Just think, you've got nowhere to go but up. Literally. I love that, "Betty White boobs."
How'd it go???
you're golden, girl.
How do your cats feel about you flirting with the guy with the dog?
It's good you can go back and edit these.
I was wondering if the Tee and shorts had been in the original post.
I hope things work out.
Our guest room? It IS a pull-out for 2 you know.
Hahahahah!
You need to make sure you carry some Liv-a-Snaps in your pockets. That's a sure way to get his dog to come over.
Make friends with the dog first. Boy will be sure to follow.
And use your dog voice when you tell him "HE'S A BIG SWEETIE."
good to know there are some good ones still out there...all in all sounds like a mightly successful afternoon!
Hee.
Real ones hang low, baby.
Never fails, does it? I've had similar situations, especially with the smoking part. Sucks ass when you aren't a full-time smoker and then you get "caught".
Though I think I'd rather be all lookin' hot, smoking a cig, then looking grunge and NOT smoking a cig when the cute boy rolls up.
that was hilarious...and i just killed a fruitfly...
I've heard many references to The Golden Girls this week. Are they planning a reunion show? I have a wart to get rid off. Was there a cool white residue?
Oh yes, Egan. Oh yes. I love you, Compound W! Send me free wart patches! Maybe that's what the dude likes! WOOT!
Please clone this man immediately!
It can only be true love.
I haven't seen him since, party people. He may have been skeered away. Murr.
Perfect. Men love ya when you're a little nasty.
Oh, he'll be back.
I will bring you dog treats this weekend to bribe the pup with.
Bea Arthur Breasts. And warts. I think the tipsiness can erase both those realities.
Yeah...gotta say, it's all about Bea Arthur. Betty White always sort of bugged me. But if you have her breasts that's okay. Celebrity boobs seem sort of cool.
Too bad the wart wasn't an alien love child...tha would be a super awesome post. Well, maybe someday...
So glad to hear someone ELSE loves drunken cleaning!
I just googled: Does Charlie Sheen where a toupee?
And guess what? YOU WERE NUMBER ONE.
I AM MOVING UP. Holy crap, people. ROCK STAR = kris. Mom and the cats are definitely proud. Thanks for the find, C!!!
1. He sounds hot!
2. I almost peed my pants (in public) from giggling so much at this. Oh, thank heavens for kegel exercises! You are a joy!
There's beauty in the natural state, although I'd be feeling your panic if I was caught in a similar situation. Guaranteed he didn't notice the wart and was probaby appreciative that a bra wasn't obstructing a full view of your rack. Guys: They're simple that way.
C'mon - The Golden Girls are H-O-T! :P
Ah, we have the same luck. I ran into the only hot guy in my building this weekend as I was taking out the trash. I figured I could just run down the hall to the trash chute in my pink pj bottoms, dirty white tee-shirt, hair in a sloppy bun, and sheet creases still on my face. I think I even had some zit medicine still on my face.
Lovely.
Ms. Brooke - I am QUITE sure you could not look zitty if you tried. :)
Oh GOSH. Isn't that the story of every single girl's life?! It seems like I am always going to Wal-Mart looking like crap and some cute dude bumps into me.
Why God?! WHY?!
LOL, SD. I AM NOT ALONE!!! :)
wow... that's like an american version of Bridget Jones... Maybe he'll like you "just the way you are." Seriously. In any case, he's getting a preview of what it'll be like if you guys get married and live to the age of seventy-something. I bet you'll stop shaving your legs after fifty. I will. It's already in my planner.
He loves the real you. He will, anyway.
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