The rest of the story..

So, Filthy Cheater watched me closely all the way home.. He and Hannah and I were folded neatly into the cab of his S-10 truck, puttering down the highway in silence..the two of them needed to feel/see/taste my reaction to losing it. I was (apparently) uncharacteristically quiet and they pondered and fretted at this. Filthy Cheater was uncharacteristically concerned. He needed to know I didn't regret it. I wasn't sure if I did or not. Something held for nearly 16 years tossed into the wind in one night.. But wasn't this something I did deliberately you ask? Why yes, my dear, it was and how can I regret such things? That would be a bit like admitting a mistake and I wasn't real fond of that concept. So we drove through the night, gas stations and pine trees lit by street lamps blurred by my window and I entered our town a different person than when I left it..just 3 hours ago? Was that possible?

We never did it again after that. At a New Years Eve party, two weeks later, I poked my head in your bathroom door. It was nearly midnight and I needed my kiss. There you were. She was short, plump, curvy, brunette...she was my polar opposite and she was giggling while you made shushing sounds and edged her out of my line of sight. I turned around dazed, confused, angry, walked to the porch. A guy that would later become a good friend was just walking up the steps, those steps I nearly got my ass kicked over you.. he was just walking up and apparently ("apparently" because I have zero memory of this and only believe it because of numerous eye-witness accounts) I jumped up and straddled him - told him Happy New Year and kissed him. He put me down and I walked away to cry. I see that smirk creeping it's way across your face, could I have been more dramatic? lol

You ended up with a little hellion named Jessica. Jessica hated me, but tried her best to be buddy-buddy with Hannah. Hannah was in a weird position and I never blamed her for having to be around Jessica and you. I blamed Filthy Cheater. The next summer you and Jessica were on a break and you and I found ourselves in a caravan headed to Lake Greeson. Jon Anderson's Seminole Wind was blaring from your vintage baby blue muscle car..the windows were down and I watched you for a long time. The sun was setting and your face was golden. I knew that song meant personal things to you, it was your swamp, your alligators in the dark, it was mystic nooks of cajun country I can't even imagine. It's the kind of song that I would normally roll my eyes at and change the station..but this memory keeps it ligitimate and meaningful to me. I can't hear that song without thinking of that day. That night we made love in a tent. I told you you'd always be special to me, and you whispered "I know." The next afternoon I drank too much and fell asleep on a camper-couch next to another guy in our group. You walked in the camper, looked down at me, muttered obscenities and walked out. I looked over confused and my stomach knotted as I realized what the picture looked like from your angle. You brooded the rest of the trip, you glared at that guy and me when you weren't avoiding us. I was surprised to see this reaction. I wanted to explain to you that nothing happened, it was just a party mistake..but I didn't. I rode back with Filthy Cheater and Hannah. You rode back with a buddy and reconciled with Jessica.

The next fall you found your last fight. Cars lined the dark highway, two clusters of good old boys congregated on either side of the highway throwing insults and threats. You took fateful, angry steps across the pavement. And engine roared. Someone from the other side whipped his truck out and ran over you. He then put it in reverse and ran over you again. Your head was under there. I heard the boy who drove you to the hospital held your head in his lap. I heard you uttered perfectly coherent phrases as he held your brain matter in his hand. You were airlifted to Texarkana. You suffered multiple strokes as your family and Jessica and Hannah and Filthy Cheater visited your bedside. In my mind I imagine you floating above this scene, holding the hand of an angel, inhaling all the prayers and love swirling the room. In my mind I know you felt overwhelmed and saddened by all this love you never knew was there. And in my mind I know you knew Jessica was pregnant with your baby boy. I know you kissed him on the head in that golden place and finally realized God is Good. God is love.

Josh Cont'd

Okay dear, so where where we? Oh yeah, you and me speeding down Main St. in your teal Camaro.. The next couple of months found us riding, making out, double dating with Hannah and Filthy Cheater,me proudly showing off the Letterman's jacket with your complicated French name on the back that no one could pronounce. But for the most part they found us partying. Your house was party central and I loved being in the middle of it. Loud, rousing games of quarters, dominoes, spades..played on a glass table pulled into the center of what should have been the living room..gigantic speakers and ratty couches squeezed in all around..tequila slammers, Boone's farm, anything really, anything alcoholic - we were too young to even care. I remember one night in particular we were playing some drinking game that involved shooting Tequila and Mountain dew (?) and I ran out the back door, puked my guts out, and came back in to finish the game. All the while Al Green pled his case through the blaring speakers.. At the time, I didn't realize what good money you made in the oil field..I can only imagine what percentage of your income was spent on partying.

We always slipped into your room about an hour before my dreaded curfew for a little hanky-panky. Remember the black light and all those psychedelic posters? And the trippy candles from Gadzooks or some shit..lol. You knew I was a virgin and you never tried to take it too far..At the time I thought that was really sweet, but now, as I'm typing this, I'm wondering if you were just too drunk..or if someone came over after I left? Never mind, I don't want to know. We had fun. I loved that house, it dripped with teen spirit and freedom. Oh, I forgot about it being right across the street from the county jail! Remember that night Edward went to jail and we partied on the porch so he could see us? Ahahaha! Oh my gosh that was so funny.. We could see his profile looking down on us and we'd holler over at him.. good times.



In retrospect, I should have expected much, much more from you. I should have expected real dates, flowers perhaps? You meeting my parents..more phone calls, you driving the 30 miles to pick me up instead of Filthy Cheater and Hannah swinging by...should have asked myself if I loved you? Or you me?.. and I should have payed attention to your anger. You were an angry drunk. But I didn't even notice, or maybe I noticed, I recognized it. I knew exactly when we needed to leave a party, or when I needed to distract you - it was just a subtle shift in bleary beautiful blue eyes, but I recognized it. You were never angry with me, but you craved a good fight and you would shove your way to it. You always won. Looking back, that should have worried me, should have sailed the red flag high - but it didn't...it was the least important thing on my radar.



Most important was my decision to make you the first. Now, truth be told, I had been feeling very, very left out of girl talk. All of my friends had done it..except me. Months and months of listening wide eyed to stories of things I had never done. I had to catch up. But no one justifiable had come along, until you. Now, I realize most girls are coerced into losing their virginity...it's usually just something that sort of happens in the heat of a moment buckling with pressure. But not me..I basically planned it out. Hannah and I arranged it, and I'm pretty sure she told Filthy Cheater and he told you what was about to go down. Wow, with my control issues and your anger we would have been a train wreck huh? I wonder what you thought about all that? Me planning everything out - me choosing you, did you feel special?



It was such an odd night. We all met up. We drove out to this pimp-ass deer camp Filthy Cheater was a part of. We drank Crown Royal and coke. We seemed nervous. And excited. Eventually it happened in a long room filled with bunk beds. It was pitch black. We were on one end of the room and somewhere out in the black abyss that was the other end of the room were Hannah and Filthy Cheater. The part of it all that jumped out at me as monumental was the sensation of being so close to another human being. All that skin on skin was so intoxicating and soft. Maybe from where you are, you can appreciate what I'm saying. I close my eyes and I can feel my hands running through your hair, up and down you back..I remember you asking if I "was sure?" In a whisper that didn't hesitate at all ... "was I okay?" I can hear giggles from the far end of the room, but they just bouce off of us - we're somewhere else. And then it was over, it was getting dressed and hurrying out the door and frantic goodbye kisses trying to make curfew. . .

Josh

Hey you! Remember me? I know you do..sometimes I think I feel you thinking of me. No way to really know, but maybe. To be honest, I really don't remember the first time we met. Odd. But that wasn't really the compelling part of our story anyway huh? I do remember Hannah wanting me to go out with you..you were good friends with her boyfriend, or "filthy cheater" as I like to call him. Okay, I know, he was a good friend to you and the filthy part is just plain catty...but it's my blog and I don't care. He hurt her so bad...screwed her up, made her feel like not enough for so long. . .anyway, apparently those two thought we might just be perfect for each other and they set it up. Hannah loved you so much. She described your big muscles, your tattoos, your beautiful blond hair and tan skin...hey, you sound like something out of a trashy novel, I can give you more than that..don't get frustrated. After her detailed tribute to your physical glory, Filthy cheater, rather hesitantly brought up your stutter. To which I ignorantly replied, "Wait, is he...um,..slow?" He took that as a personal insult and painstakingly explained to me that no, you were one of the smartest people he knew and that you didn't exactly stutter like someone they're making fun of on TV, and then sighed an exasperated sigh and told me I'd just have to wait and see. He loved you too. (Is it weird that I remember the ride to meet you, but not the actual meeting of you?)

I think we must have met in the parking lot - and apparently I did, in fact, like you and thought you were every bit of that romance novel guy. The "stutter" proved to be more of a hesitation before speaking, than an actual stutter..I would find out later that the real stutter only really came out when you were mad,..and drunk,..and about to stomp someone. I'll bet you had a shitty time growing up. Wish I had asked. The icing on the cake was that you originally came up from Houma, LA and that made you mysterious and interesting. Your accent was so charming to us. We came back to that little ratty party house you and Edward rented on the South side of town. It was filled with furniture destined to break, and be rearranged for party purposes. Little, old-timey gas heaters populated every room - before y'all, some mamaw must have been pretty cold. I vaguely remember sitting on the couch, listening to music. For once (I would come to find out) there was nothing going on there and we decided to go ride around. You swung open the front door to six girls heading up the steps looking extremely pissed. You put your arm in front of me like mama's do to kids in the front seat when they think they're going to have an accident. You scooted me back in the house, told me to stay there and disappeared out the door. This was crazy. I decided to go see what was going on. Bad idea. (Not my best assertion of independence) Six angry girls glared at me, insults and names flew. I stood by your side while you argued with one, rather large-boned girl (note to Internet - that's not my bitchy way of saying she was overweight - she really was big boned,.. kind of stocky, emphasis on the boned, not the big) From what I gathered, you two were 'friends' and she had strong feelings for you and apparently (according to you) she had gotten the wrong idea..now she was running with this wrong idea in the direction of possessive. (I just want to take this moment and bust you out...we both know WHERE she probably got the wrong idea..rolling my eyes at you as I type) Some tall bitch from out of town showing up on a night you hadn't answered her pages was just enough to send her over the edge. Walking outside was a bad idea. I was scared of these girls. They were scar-y. At one point, some little scrappy thing stepped up to me with some harsh words and questions. I plastered on the poker face, raised an eyebrow and put my face as close to hers as it would go. I tried like hell to make my voice steady and solid, while telling her to get the fuck out of my face. She looked me in the eye for a minute and then stepped down, talked your "friend" out of this silly little endeavor and they left. I remember you apologizing over and over as we climbed into that old Camaro of yours. You were quiet in the car, but you put your hand on my knee and my fifteen year old self thought "Finally! A boyfriend..Finally Is this really happening? If we had children they would be the most beautiful little blond haired angels.." Down Main St. we went, in a teal muscle car. I kissed you at the red light...there we go..Can you see us from where you are?

To be continued.. (I'm sorry internet - my bosses are giving me all this crap to do..it's like they want me to use this thing for 'work' or something..sigh..I'll be back tomorrow, I promise..kisses)

The bitch is dead...

and she'll have no chance of resurrection after 2 more days of antibiotics. Mommy is tired..but back at work. In true Monday spirit we overslept this morning..We woke up at 6:56, by 7:16 we were out the door having ingested chocolate poptarts, blue powerade, assorted prescription medicines (the pediatric kind - what's wrong with you people?!), back flipped into our clothes, scribbled out a signature on a progress report, and brushed away our collective morning breath. WE ROCK. We rock so hard that we avoided any and all meltdowns..the grown-ups happy that this little face is back




The kiddos are happy to be reunited after a weekend apart. They're happy about the bad-ass, just because toys mommy got for them this weekend.. Mommy never does that - she's too worried about us growing up in a materialistic, wasteful society...she's too worried we're going to expect a new toy every time we turn around. And when Meemaw and assorted other family members are always finding excuses to buy toys, mommy doesn't really ever get a chance to do the just because toy. But this weekend? Mommy said screw that! This weekend, mommy decided we were going to have some just because fun...and mommy has decided she likes being the good guy.

All is good people, all is GOOD.

Thanks for your sweet thoughts over the weekend.

Love y'all.

Excused Absence

Hey you! I know I've been all mia today, and you're thinking, "Man! You can't depend on that girl for shit!" No comments, no e-mails, no post (big surprise).. But listen, I actually have an excuse this time..no really, and unfortunately a good excuse is a bad thing..baby's sick. And I mean sick. Sick is upon us. And she's a bitch. Crazy little peaked eyes, pitiful voice capturing an even longer draw than usual, red nose and cheeks, ...poor baby, she's doing a number on both of us.

Last night as I settled in to sleep next to him, Sick sensed it and decided to have some fun with us two. She started by making him moan and pitifully howl, she pierced his head and ears. Mommy tried to fight back with neon pink motrin..no good. Ten minutes later she let out her war cry and jacked the temperature up so high he started seeing snakes on the bed.."Snake, snake! Snake Mommy!" "Where? No snake baby, see?! (oh God, please help us, fever this high does brain damage) Mommy runs for the cold rag and Tylenol, she strips him down, tortures him with the rag...Sick laughes in her face. Mommy holds and rocks and thinks..think, think, think..ER's useless - they can't give him anymore medicine - I've already brought out the only viable weapons..Sick's going down - it's just a waiting game and stamina..stamina, stamina, stamina..."Dear lord Jesus, be with my baby, put your hand on his head like that other time..Sick is stronger than me, but I know in my heart you're stronger than Sick..please, please, give me knowledge, give me a reassuring poker face, hit me on the head with the keys and my glasses if we should be going to the ER right now..Amen" At that moment Sick lets out the big dogs, Sick vomits mucous and motrin down my chest..she shakes precious baby boy and raises an eyebrow at me. We take this fight to the bathtub and I silently send up a prayer of thanks that the support shelf in my tank-top has finally been put to some good use. We take a quick torturous shower, I don't think the baby can shake anymore... Baby's eyes are so red and glassy I check his pockets expecting to find rolling papers and a zippo.. I glance at jeans thrown across the bed and survey for vomit on the lamb..negative, thank you again tank top support shelf.. Sick revels in our pain, she taunts me.. and then we hear it "Scooo-do Mommy,..scoo-do". Her head whips around, she screeches as she melts into oblivion. Releived mommy presses play on Scooby Do DVD..collapses on the couch with exhausted baby. Thank you Jesus..

Today we are better armed for Sick, she's battling with anti-biotics, vazobid?, and tylenol cough syrup.. She's hanging on tight to two infected ears, sinusitis and a tooth that she refuses to let break the gums. But we're going to win the war.. Thank you Jesus for late night answers and doctors who'll work us in.

Peace.

Details..

Hey y'all, remember me? That girl who spills her secrets and weird experiences all over the net? That girl who will tell everything but her real name? That girl that loves y'all to death and wants to invite everyone over for a freak'n barbecue in the backyard, but can't figure out how to do that without Mr. Mustang finding out about the blog? Well, she's about to rock this meme from ChurchPunkMom.. she's about to get personal and tell y'all some shit my real life people don't even know. Because isn't that the fun of all this? Here we go..there's only 6, so don't change the channel dammit.

1) I have fucked up feet. I danced in high heeled tap shoes as a young child and although I now have the highest arch in all of humanity, and can wear the highest of heels without discomfort, the shape of the shoes sort of molded my young, still growing feet crooked..and they're ugly...and I go to great lengths to hide them...Case and point: When I slid my bare feet into the stirrups in my labor and delivery room (first son), the guy that accidentally knocked me up got a shocked look on his face and blurted out "what happened to your feet!.." As I began to explain, he again burst out with a horrified "Did you break them or something? When did that happen!?" As he had seen me naked numerous times, this was a testament to how talented I am at hiding my feet. Or at how little he pays attention.

2) I have to eat a bowl (sometimes 2) of cereal every night before I go to bed. It's not supper..it's just an extra meal that I must have in order to survive. Any cereal will do, but I usually stick with Lucky Charms or Honey Combs.

3) I once had an affair with a married/separated/married man. I loved him. I still believe that he loved me along with manipulating and using me. I don't think he meant to love me. I didn't see my part in it as being wrong until I was myself married.

4) I've had a thing for Venicio Del Toro since I was 16. (I know???!!!??)

5) I secretly feel like I should have been a child of the 70's. I identify with the music more than the music of my own time..and the hair..

6) I like to be on top. But I feel guilty about it, because I know it's just another indication of my control issues within our marriage. On the upside, Mr. Mustang is totally willing to ignore the control-issue aspect of it.

Well, that's that. Don't hate me. Or if you do, leave a comment so I can vehemently defend myself and we can start a little comment war giving me a record day of comments.

I'm tagging: Jasper, who hasn't been writing shit lately (lazy butt).
Candace, who I love to read because it's like talking to someone from my hometown.
Tracee, who was my first bloggy friend.
TheMister, who is always a hoot.
Pamela, who's barefoot and pregnant - but still sassy as hell.
And Ciii, who's name I don't understand, but pretend I do... (does that make 7?)
Peace.

Dear Mrs. William Banks,

Hey you, I know it's been a long time..but I need a little favor. I need you to do me and you a little favor. I need you to have sex with your husband. Hot, steamy, make-up, it's been a while, up against the wall, you-don't-have-to-be-quiet-because-the-kids-aren't-here sex with your husband. Yes, that's right, I'm getting all up in your business. Try to skip on over that, and listen because it's for your own good. Trust me. I know, I know, I know what all he's done to you. I know the thousands of ways he's hurt and abused your heart and your trust. I know he's let you down and teased you and treated your love like garbage..I know. But here's the thing. You need to have sex...with your husband...immediately.

At first I thought maybe you'd lost your spark for him. I get that. I get that we're women and our sexual desire is all wrapped up in emotion and sometimes the brain turns off the chemistry switch after you've been hurt so much..sometimes the fire is put out by so many tears... If that were the case I would be all "Give it some time, let your brain come to see him as safe and strong again and it'll give you back your spark" But, I saw you two on the couch that morning. And sweet pea, you're not fooling anyone, there's nothing wrong with the spark.

So this is what you need to get through your pretty little exhausted, wrung-out, emotionally terrified, sex deprived head: Just do it. That's right, listen to Nike, listen to your body, listen to me..Just.Do.It. kay? I can see you're not buying it. I can see you're clinging to delusions. Let me try this a different way. Doing the big nasty with your husband does NOT mean all is forgiven or forgotten,..it does NOT mean you are lying down your guard. It does NOT mean he will stop trying, sex with you is not his only motivator. It does NOT mean your heart is once again on the chopping block. I know it feels that way, but honey, in reality, it never came off the chopping block. If it had, even for a moment, you would be married to another man by now. I know it feels like surrendering the fight, the "good" fight, but that's just your pride playing games with you. You CAN, and you must, lie down with that man while standing your ground. It is not letting go of the fight, it is simply letting go of the present just a little tiny bit in order to reach for the future..normalcy. Peace. Isn't that the life you've prayed for? A peaceful, normal one? Well, sweetheart, I know it's hard..I know you've been in this hell so long it's almost comfortable, but if you want that thing God's trying to hand down..you're going to have to let go just a little and reach up and grab it. You need it. He needs it. There are voices clawing at him day and night trying to convince him there's nothing fun or enjoyable or bearable about this life. The battle is raging inside him...and I'm pretty sure you know a good orgasm can drown out everything. You need this too. Your brain is tired..your voices are nagging and worrisome and they exhaust themselves trying to build a house of cards around that damn chopping block. So listen to me carefully, the next time you find yourself tangled up on the couch with the man you love, with the man you love minus the drugs, do him. For the love of Bob, DO him!

In the words and wisdom of Nappy, "hump and hope."

And William, if you happen to find yourself on the couch anytime soon..Do not, under any circumstances, stop what you're doing to ask if she wants to go to the bedroom..the voices in her head will rush in again disguised as common sense and it will be over before it starts.

Also, if you sleep with that sneaky little Asian girl you've got puppy-dogging after you, I will allow the monster to devour you.

Note to internet: I missed the last episode..if they did, in fact, do it, ignore this post.

Monster

Hey you! Remember me? I know, I know, you've decided to pretend you don't..you've decided to avoid eye contact the few times we've met since that night. I can't decide if it's because you actually have a conscience and feel ashamed, or if you're embarrassed that a girl stepped up..

It was mid winter, which meant deer camps all over the South were in full swing. Me and that girl I almost never hung out with were invited (through her older brother) to a party at that dingy little trailer-camp. I'd heard stories of parties out there, but they usually involved older, more country people that I almost never kicked it with. In fact, there were some older, country girls there and honestly, I was pretty scared of them. Let's just say they were the type to make an appearance on Jerry Springer now and then.

It was such a weird mix of people that night..but there was plenty of alcohol and I was staying with that girl, and she didn't have a curfew, so that pretty much spelled fun for me. We spent most of the night rotating in and out..out to the bonfire to stand in circles and talk and smoke cigarettes and then back in the trailer camp to talk and smoke cigarettes. I felt odd without my usual circle of friends, somewhat insecure, a little more free. At some point the music was turned way up and people started dancing in the living room. By that time I was pretty lit, but having a blast. I remember having an in-depth discussion with Bradley McKafin..but I don't' remember about what. Bradley was Mr. Mustang's age, and so I really only knew him through these types of parties. If I had been a fly on the wall, I would have said that Bradley was hitting on me..but I would have been a mistaken little fly. In fact, in all the years I've known him I've never seen or heard of Bradley seducing anyone..period. I'm not drawing conclusions here, I'm just showing the cards I hold. Bradley was a hoot, his monstrous frame served him well during high school football games, and I'm sure didn't hurt in college either. . He was big in some fraternity, but was surprisingly down to earth, not at all like the self-absorbed fraternity assholes I'd encountered.

Anyway, during this conversation the older brother of the girl I came with interrupted our conversation to get me on the dance floor (sardine box/living room of camp trailer). We slow danced to country music and the room spun with me. I wondered (probably out loud - drunk ass) what the girl I came with would think of her brother holding me like that and flirting with me like that moving with me like that in the middle of a spinning room, to an old country song.. Then I felt it.. on my ass. Actually, it wasn't exactly 'on' my ass. That makes it sound like a hand was tactfully placed there. It was actually more like a hand made it self comfortable with my ass then went in for the crotch grab.. Startled and confused I wondered what the hell was going on, my dance partner's hands were accounted for. He saw me jump and said "what?" as I turned around to the sea of swaying sardines. At first I thought, "wtf!? Did I just imagine that? Am I drunk?" Then I caught your eye..your creepy, exhilarated, oh-so-proud of yourself eye. And your smirk. To tell the truth, your smirk's what did it..your smirk reached on over and painted me a nice little shade of furious. You were a good head taller than me, and even though this was our first encounter I knew you drove an old beat up truck and confidently approached women in bars with corny pick-up lines while wearing a cowboy hat. I knew your favorite movie was Urban Cowboy and I knew you still expected your mama to cook supper for you every night.

I leaned in on you, I told you not to make the mistake of believing that that shit was cool, not to assume I was the kind of girl that would put up with that. And for damn sure not to try it again.. I'm pretty sure I called you derogatory names also, but the details escape me. All during my little hot-headed rant the smirk mocked me. You were amused. You were amused, I was furious and my dance partner was urging me to let it go. As I turned back around to face him I said "you don't understand, he didn't just 'touch' my butt" "He took a big old healthy handful of everything" "That shit pisses me off, what makes him think he has the right to -" And then, and then, my eyes narrowed, my jaw set and my fist clenched. In my memory, it's all slow motion. It's one continuous motion,. It's me dropping older brother's hand..his eyes wide, me swinging around, arm raising up through the smoky air, it's the room no longer spinning, but silent and still, holding it's breath until my fist made contact with your face, it's me lunging at you like an animal it's rage and red and beautiful..my cheeks are hot just thinking about it..it's the smirk giving way to shock and confusion and disbelief, the monster in me roars with satisfaction...the smirk is dead, but the monster wants more, it needs to smash it's anger into your face, it needs to make contact.. and just as I am nearly upon you, almost able to devour you and that face that once held the smirk, a monstrous hand catches the arm mid-air and jerks the little body that holds the monster back, back, back, kicking and screaming and cursing the tease. The monstrous hand talks sense to the monster and she doesn't want any part of it.. the monstrous hand makes the smirk apologize while the monster scowls at him. The monstrous hand holds back laughter that might set the monster off on another war path.

I'm getting to a point creepy-Smirk, maybe I had an angry monster inside me back then, I'll give you that, maybe I was a loose canon...but I've changed. Really, I've chilled out a LOT. Here's the thing though, with all that 'change' and 'growth' and 'healing'... I still want to hit you. I want my fist to make contact with your face. I want to stun the pig right out of you. Just this morning I was reading things you've said about some lady politician..Sarah Palin? Nasty things, things you have no right to say, things you would "do" to her were you not the biggest loser in the world, things that disrespected her as a person, as a mother, as a wife, as a person..and as I read these things an uninvited hand reaches up from underneath my chair and has the nerve to grab my ass again..and once again I see red. I'd recommend you rethink yourself creepy-Smirk, because one of these days Bradley McKafin isn't going to be there to protect you from the monster.