Dear Grocery Store Hottie,
Thank you for waving me over to your lane this evening. I had entered the line where you were bagging because, well, I like to look at you wherever you are. Though talking to you is nice, too; I always enjoy your convincing concern about whether I found everything I wanted
(um, YES - I only needed floss & Pirate's Booty because I've been into this store every day for a week...I appreciate you not judging), and your kind "Have a good evening" warms my heart. Plus, it cheers me that you never make reference to our obvious age difference
of multiple decades. (Please note that if you ever want me to stop
stalking you coming to your checkout, call me
Ma'am. I won't be back because I will have
died an
anguished
death). Anyway. I was secretly thrilled when you stopped bagging and went to open your own lane and waved
directly at me in my general direction. Our encounter was, as usual, delightful; so much so that I extended it by asking for my $20 cash back in
tens, please. Those extra seconds were precious to me, and to my children who spent the time racing around the produce section with a cart.
Yours until you call me old (or alert security),
Bad Mom
_________________________________
Dear Darling Husband,
I am grateful for your understanding attitude about my [not so secret] crushes on grocery store clerks. I'm glad you know it isn't about replacing you - even if a
teenaged boy younger man were somehow interested in me, I would not want him. I live for your sweet smile, the way you think I'm sexy no matter what I'm doing or wearing, your endless handyman techniques, how you willingly, lovingly get me blankets and wine and tea from Singapore. I don't need
you to do edgy things like wearing ear plugs or a wallet chain or
a touch of eyeliner. You rock my world with your Relaxed-Fit Levi's and GAP t-shirts and black leather Skechers. Thank you for indulging my crazy.
Miss you terribly.
Love you always (with or without oatmeal carmelitas from you-know-where),
Bad Wife
