I remember the first time I met my ex-M.I.L. Voldemort was out when she stopped by, so I invited her in to wait.
"Voldemort has told me so much about you. How are you?"
"I'm fine, thanks. And you?"
"I'm so horny! I haven't had sex in a week. I swear I could have an orgas..."
::THUD:: (the sound of my jaw hitting the floor)
I don't remember most of the rest of the conversation - because all I could think was,
"Holyfrickingcow I can't believe this old woman is still even wanting to have sex! Did she just say 'oral'? Crap, I think she did. Crap; I think she expects me to say something. What should I say? All I could think was, 'Ew, lady, I would have thought your hoo-hoo would be retired by now!?!? I mean, come on, you're over 40 for cryingoutloud!!!'
Yup, at the wise age of 21, I thought someone over 40 having sex was - gross. I swear it made me throw up (a little) in my own mouth - yeah, that's gross too. But seriously, the thought of "this old woman" having oral--
Ahh.....the irony of it all -- to find myself "over-forty," and standing in front of an audience, and talking about: sex (or the lack of it).
kinda gross -- especially if there's 20-somethings in the crowd.
So, as to assuage the masses (okay, the small polite crowd would be a more accurate description of my Rogue audiences), I like refer to my....."encounters" using my most favorite euphemism:
GOING TO THE STORE
Some of you are familar with this expression. Heck, I think I may have at least run around the parking lot with one or two of you...and some of you I've taken to the store - even if it was just my imagination...running away with me....
As I've said in the past, shopping alone is not necessarily a bad thing: I don't have to hold my stomach in, or wear makeup. I don't have to shave my legs. I don't have to worry about how long we're going to be having se-- err, shopping, or how much sleep I really need. I don't have to have the "I told you the last time, don't push your...cart....down... that....lane" conversation.
Yes, yes, I know - we are not meant to...shop alone. And I do appreciate someone else being in charge of selecting the...fresh produce. And pushing the cart. But damn! There are so many things to be relearned -
-like how do you get from the parking lot to the store? I mean, do you make it look like an accident, or do you announce that you really want to go inside?
-or the art of pushing the cart. Fast? slow? Both sides of the aisle? Left to right, or right to left?
-maybe no cart at all - just a handbasket....
-not putting something heavy on top of the..."bread" - it just gets smooshed flat. Flat bread, no good.
-oh, and remembering to make sure "they" get what they wanted at the store. It is not, after all, all about my cookies. Oh, but should you crush my cookies, we.....will NOT be shopping together again.
All this store-talk has made me....hungry. I'm gonna go see what's on the....shelf.
My ex-M.I.L. and I are no longer in contact, but she and my daughter are very close. I am happy (?) to say, she continues to talk about sex with 20-something year olds:
MIL: So, Erynn, do you have a boyfriend?
Erynn: No, Grandma.
MIL: Do you have a girlfriend?
Erynn: No, Grandma, I'm not a lesbian. I just don't have a boyfriend.
MIL: 'cause it would be okay if you were a lesbian. If I were 20 years younger, that Catherine Zeta-Jones is hot!
Erynn: Bye, Grandma....