For Women Only
Real world me works in the local school system, volunteers with children’s activities and coaches/consults on high school sports teams. At any given time I’ve got fifteen to twenty teenage boys staying/sleeping/living all over my house, and real world me is a legend among the women in my town because of it. I cannot tell you how many times women my age or older approach me and ask how I manage to keep my hormones to myself with that many boys around. What I ask them is:
WHY ON EARTH WOULD I WANT A TEENAGE BOY?!
So for all you ladies out there who think the younger guy is the way to go, let me give you a run down of my typical Saturday morning (keep in mind, most of these boys are over age eighteen):
6am: Wake up to ceiling plaster falling on my head because Junior cranked up his amp in order to demonstrate his latest Flea imitation with his new bass guitar. I text him to turn it down but he can’t hear the phone over the reverb.
6:15am: Step over a dozen boys crashed out on my living room floor on the way to the kitchen to make coffee, only to find grounds spread everywhere; my secret high-end coffee bag empty and tossed to the floor NEXT to the garbage can.
6:30am: I attempt to make a desperate phone call to the ex, begging for donuts and coffee but first have to wade through fifty plus messages left by the giggling girls calling Prince Charming (he shuts his cell phone off at night so he can get some sleep. Naturally they call the house instead).
6:45am: Go back to bed and wait for ten or more boys to take showers before I can get mine. Ladies, this is not as hot as you might think. Teenage boys smell worse coming out of the shower than they do when they went in. I don’t know how it happens, but it happens.
8:00am: Gather my clothes for a mad dash to the shower only to discover I have one remaining pair of “underthings” left in my drawer. I dig through the bathroom hamper to do a load of laundry and find most of my “underthings” missing. You heard me right, ladies. MISSING. I don’t even want to begin to think about why they’re doing that.
8:30am: The ex finally arrives with donuts for everyone and no coffee for me. The ex takes Mini Me for the day, and I listen to Prince Charming and half the superfluous boys tear out of the driveway in their ridiculously loud, lifted trucks. I go back to bed and listen to the remaining boys in the next room giggle and snicker about sex.
Now here’s where it all goes horribly, horribly wrong.
Ladies, they know NOTHING. Sure, they know body parts and what goes where, but beyond that they are completely oblivious about anything that makes sex great. Yeah…serve me up a big slice of THAT.
I’ve consulted with a few of my sisters-in-sin; SPARKLEBUMPS, LIFEINTHEFARCELANE and SAVOR THE FOLLY, and they are as lost for an explanation as I am. In my opinion males don’t begin to become remotely interesting until they’re at least
forty thirty-nine (per JB). I mean it when I say that I’ll take gray around the temples over a hairless chest any day. So to all you Twilight-esque Moms I just have to ask: