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Thoughts from a MILF

I have been coming to this coffee shop for ten years. The following diatribe is dedicated to... flirty flattering barista.

Stop. I get it. I got it four months ago, on your second day. I am not an idiot. I am polite.

I hand you my card every transaction, I know you have seen my ring, you have even made mention of it, and you call me Mrs. (insert last name). So, I know you know I am married. I am also old enough to be your mother. Furthermore, if you tried this crap with my husband here, he would reach across the counter, passed the gift cards and packaged biscotti, just below your chiseled jaw and snap your neck.

That being said; compliments are nice. I understand that they are integral to customer service. It is sweet that you like my hair, my scarf, and think my manicure is amazing. But, you “really like how my earrings lie against my neck”? And today, “my jeans look super great”? Ok, Keagan, let’s do this; you and me.

But first, let me thank you, for reassuring me that after all these years of the tireless effort on behalf of the women’s movement and nearly a half a century of accomplishments under my belt, all you can see are my jeans. I came in here for a cup of coffee not for you to look at my ass.

Do you know why women my age do not generally get intimately involved with young men?

Let me qualify that by saying, there are always exceptions to the rule. There are the few of us who have a few too many glasses of Merlot, or just don't bother to care, and pounce. Also, there are those few dumb-luck kids who can survive a cougar attack. But, by and large, most women my age know it is bad. We have learned that we may not be able to fix everything in the world but we can, at least, not make things worse.

Have you heard the story of the praying mantis?

She stands still, as he approaches anxiously limbs trembling with excitement, and then hoists him upon her majestic body. He copulates until exhaustion. She turns her head to peer into his loving contented eyes. Then she severs his head and consumes his corpse for sustenance.

You and your kind are like those dogs that chase cars. What are you going to do if you catch one?

I know that the current culture has made this behavior seem cool and you even have acronyms that make it easier to objectify women my age. MILF means a ‘Mother I’d Like to F##k’. Yes, to my horror, this was explained to me by my children. By the way, what a slew of acronyms you guys have at your disposal. Sometimes, I think you have too much time on your hands. However I digress, my point is;

Do you know what a women my age is thinking when you behave this way?

Standing there wide-eyed, mouth agape, looking at a muscle-bound virile young man, licking his lips with a raging hard-on in his hand? She is thinking; “Yikes, this kid really wants to f##k his Mom.”

I don’t know if it is because she did not hug you enough or because she hugged you too much or she just looked smoking hot in her flannel P.J.s and fuzzy slippers. I have no idea! But if I found myself unattached, if hell froze over and pigs began to sprout wings and somehow that moment occurred where I let you ‘rock my world’, it would not matter how many times you made me howl at the moon, you would be scarred. It would damage your relationship with your mother, whatever the hell is going on there. And potentially damage any future relationship you have with another woman.

So, stop. If you keep it up... will eventually find a MILF that will make you her personal Pinocchio. That’s right, a living breathing dildo.

Now, I will take a half-caff skinny latte, hold the whip.

The End

Robin Whitson- O'Flinn

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