Mustang Allie

Okay, today I am living in a very happy place...anxiously awaiting both my next phone call and our Friday night date. I've been thinking a lot about kissing him again, but just so you don't get the wrong impression, there are tons of other things I enjoy about him besides his making out abilities. For instance, he is quite possibly the sweetest, most sincere and open man I've ever encountered. He's tons of fun and affectionate and funny. And as I've now reached the limit on the barf-o-meter, I will stop ennumerating his many wonderful qualities.

And instead I'll move on to what I've done with my day thus far. As usual, I got up this morning and managed to get myself ready for work while at the same time wrestling two young children into getting dressed and begging them to brush their teeth by use of minor veiled threats and punishments. That was fun.

Ever since I've been at work, I have accomplished about 47 minutes of actual "work," while also managing to talk on the phone, conduct small talk with co-workers, and drink 5.3 cups of coffee.

I also was invited to lunch with two (male) co-workers and my boss. Good news is I got to ride in his brand-new, super-hot, Mustang GT Convertible. And I got shotgun because I was a girl. And had the longest legs. So we went to a local, very popular, greasy-spoon, at which there is a minimum 98% male dining population at any given time. My boss warned me right before we went inside that he felt the need to apologize in advance that this would be a "sausage factory." Quaint.

If only he were joking. As soon as we stepped inside the door, it was like Godzilla himself had crashed through the entrance and was staring down each diner, looking for his next victim. No - it was more like being Pamela Anderson and walking along the solitary confinement corridor at the state prison. Something more like that. Now, mind you, the "waitresses" at this joint take orders and deliver food dressed merely in tighty-tight t-shirts and daisy dukes. No kidding. Again, quaint. But the diners are still not accustomed to a girl eating at this establishment. And, frankly, they don't like it.

But it's all good. I can handle it. No problem. We laughed as we counted three times as the number of times a dirty old man, er um, fellow patron, touched the small of my back to move me out of the way. Yeah. Quaint. This is better than Frickers, y'all.

So we finally sit down and order our food. We have a great old time discussing which of the waitresses have "real" boobs versus "fake" boobs, and the pluses and minuses to attending strip clubs. So I try to participate in all of this guy talk. Not as easy as you might expect. I point out that the chicks they are surveying are far less attractive and considerably more skanky than their wives. The rebuttal to which is simply that guys like skanky and trashy and are willing to settle for a little less attractive to get it -- once. So this, people, is an insight into the depths of the male brain. Guess where it is located on the male human anatomy??? And right about this time, it sucks to be a girl. (Probably about as much as it sucked for my boss to try to weasel his way out of most of this conversation)

So finally we leave. I make a joking comment about how, "Hey,"I get to drive back." To which the keys are tossed my way!!! Oh yeah. I got to totally drive the new car. And I was totally allowed to floor it at green lights and accelerate fast at all corners. I was even encouraged to drive 75 mph in a 50 mph zone, just to get the engine roaring. The other two guys had to sit in the back seat. Quite possibly because their legs are shorter than mine. But what can I say??? It's great to be a girl!