our arms, and then looking down to see that our laps, our thighs, our feet and ankles, and even our breasts were no longer ours.
We love our kids, us moms. Even with the sacrifice of what it does to us physically. But what does it do to the fathers? There are no physical changes. Just changes in their perceptions of us. That now we've created life our bodies aren't touchable anymore.
That we've stopped being women and are now mothers…a completely different species. While they turn from the Madonna and find the whore outside the house.
I took a long, hot shower and pretty much cursed Burt for everything he was worth.
I just finished putting the food on the table when the doorbell rang. Kyle had dressed me, insisting I wear something besides jeans, shorts or capri pants, I settled on a nice half summer, half fall dress he bought me on that last excursion to the mall to improve my wardrobe. "And wear a real bra!"
I wear sports bras, cause they're more comfortable.
"I'll get it!" Kyle ran up the stairs from his lair and I saw him pause at the front door. Take a deep breath, and then he opened it. "Hi Mr. Almondrode. Come on in."
I'd met his boss a few times. Gerald Almondrode was a big guy. And I mean girth-wise. He was also close to 6'4" and that had to be barefoot. I waved at Gerald from the table, just visible from the door.
"Hello there!" He said in his booming voice. "How's the little cougar doing?"
Gerald just loved it that we were a 'couple' and I was older. I made a promise to myself—the fat-ass got three shots at cougar for the night. But on the fourth…I kill him.
I cringed inwardly as I waved back to him. "Just fine! Putting food on the table. Come on in." I ducked into the kitchen, yanked open the refrigerator and grabbed the glass of hootch Kyle had ready for the two of us—just to get us through the night. His grandfather used to run white lightening and his dad liked to make it. They lived in the swampy parts of southern Georgia and as far as I knew, the old fart had a still in the woods. Kyle called it tater juice. I called it battery cleaner as it burned on the way down and I ended up in a coughing fit.
"Hey…you all right? I can get—"
I knew that voice, and it wasn't Kyle's, nor was it Gerald's. The world moved in slow motion as I turned to see Michael Oliver standing in the door to the kitchen, the French Press in its box in one hand, and a Trader Joe's bag in the other.
We stood like that, me by the sink and him in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity. Then Kyle came in the side door from the dining room and looked from me, to Michael, then back to me. He put a hand on my arm. "Is there something wrong?"
Michael responded in a sort of breathless voice. "Uh…she was…coughing. I didn't know if she needed…help."
Kyle looked at me and I stared at him, wide eyed. What was I supposed to do? Here was the guy I'd mentioned to Kyle, without giving a name, in the house, with my room mate's boss. A boss who believed I was his employee's cougar girlfriend.
I was in a bad sitcom and didn't see a way out of it. And the look on Michael's face told me he was just as shocked as I was. And he looked…beautiful. His hair had been combed back and his thin beard made even thinner. He had silver, wire framed glasses perched on his nose as he set the French Press he'd bought earlier in the day on the only space available on the kitchen's island.
Gerald came into the kitchen behind Kyle and gestured to Michael. "Grace, this is Michael Oliver, our new team leader. Michael, this is Grace Murphy, Kyle's wonderful girlfriend."
God I was so happy he didn't say cougar again. God I was so humiliated he called me Kyle's girlfriend.
But Michael didn't skip a beat. He schooled his expression and offered me his hand. "Nice to meet you Grace."
His touch sent warm feelings to my happy place, which honestly hadn't been visited in several years. I
We love our kids, us moms. Even with the sacrifice of what it does to us physically. But what does it do to the fathers? There are no physical changes. Just changes in their perceptions of us. That now we've created life our bodies aren't touchable anymore.
That we've stopped being women and are now mothers…a completely different species. While they turn from the Madonna and find the whore outside the house.
I took a long, hot shower and pretty much cursed Burt for everything he was worth.
I just finished putting the food on the table when the doorbell rang. Kyle had dressed me, insisting I wear something besides jeans, shorts or capri pants, I settled on a nice half summer, half fall dress he bought me on that last excursion to the mall to improve my wardrobe. "And wear a real bra!"
I wear sports bras, cause they're more comfortable.
"I'll get it!" Kyle ran up the stairs from his lair and I saw him pause at the front door. Take a deep breath, and then he opened it. "Hi Mr. Almondrode. Come on in."
I'd met his boss a few times. Gerald Almondrode was a big guy. And I mean girth-wise. He was also close to 6'4" and that had to be barefoot. I waved at Gerald from the table, just visible from the door.
"Hello there!" He said in his booming voice. "How's the little cougar doing?"
Gerald just loved it that we were a 'couple' and I was older. I made a promise to myself—the fat-ass got three shots at cougar for the night. But on the fourth…I kill him.
I cringed inwardly as I waved back to him. "Just fine! Putting food on the table. Come on in." I ducked into the kitchen, yanked open the refrigerator and grabbed the glass of hootch Kyle had ready for the two of us—just to get us through the night. His grandfather used to run white lightening and his dad liked to make it. They lived in the swampy parts of southern Georgia and as far as I knew, the old fart had a still in the woods. Kyle called it tater juice. I called it battery cleaner as it burned on the way down and I ended up in a coughing fit.
"Hey…you all right? I can get—"
I knew that voice, and it wasn't Kyle's, nor was it Gerald's. The world moved in slow motion as I turned to see Michael Oliver standing in the door to the kitchen, the French Press in its box in one hand, and a Trader Joe's bag in the other.
We stood like that, me by the sink and him in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity. Then Kyle came in the side door from the dining room and looked from me, to Michael, then back to me. He put a hand on my arm. "Is there something wrong?"
Michael responded in a sort of breathless voice. "Uh…she was…coughing. I didn't know if she needed…help."
Kyle looked at me and I stared at him, wide eyed. What was I supposed to do? Here was the guy I'd mentioned to Kyle, without giving a name, in the house, with my room mate's boss. A boss who believed I was his employee's cougar girlfriend.
I was in a bad sitcom and didn't see a way out of it. And the look on Michael's face told me he was just as shocked as I was. And he looked…beautiful. His hair had been combed back and his thin beard made even thinner. He had silver, wire framed glasses perched on his nose as he set the French Press he'd bought earlier in the day on the only space available on the kitchen's island.
Gerald came into the kitchen behind Kyle and gestured to Michael. "Grace, this is Michael Oliver, our new team leader. Michael, this is Grace Murphy, Kyle's wonderful girlfriend."
God I was so happy he didn't say cougar again. God I was so humiliated he called me Kyle's girlfriend.
But Michael didn't skip a beat. He schooled his expression and offered me his hand. "Nice to meet you Grace."
His touch sent warm feelings to my happy place, which honestly hadn't been visited in several years. I
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