Dis mama ain't no MILF
So the other day I ran across this word "milf", and I thought, “hey, what’s this cute new linguistic gem? I must find out what it means and use it every day!” Well, it turns out it’s an acronym, and since this blog is G-rated, I can only tell you that it was coined by young men and means Mother I’d Like to, ah . . . Fondle.
So anyway, these chicks on a cool blog were all talking about how they finally, finally have their milfy bodies back now that they’re several months (months!!) postpartum, and I have to say, it took everything I had not to become deeply hostile. I mean, I was pretty trim pre-baby, and it’s not like I’m some kind of grade-A finalist for 4-H Heifers of the Year or anything, but dude, I am over one year postpartum and SO NOT EVEN REMOTELY a MAWLF (Mother Anyone Would Like to Fondle). Things just are sort of more soft-underbelly than they used to be, I have total Mom Hair, and everything I wear looks like it should have a coordinating lanyard and tote bag. *sigh*
My rampant non-milfiness hit me today when I was in the locker room at the Y. Bee-bee and I had taken D-lightful to the pool and there was some kind of size 2 body/fabulous clothes-and-hair convention going on. It was all pre-teen girls and anorexic female CEOs, and I found myself wondering if perhaps there couldn’t be a separate dressing room for these people. I understand that they need to work out—how else can you maintain a trouser size that’s equal to my slacker former roommate’s GPA? But is there really a need to parade one’s walfy (Woman Anybody’d Like to Fondle) body around in front of the rest of us?
Luckily, I’m easy to talk down. All it took was finding out that Bee-bee was actually able to capture D-lectable in my FAVORITE new outfit (a corduroy jumpsuit and high-top boots—some people dress their kids like street urchins, I dress mine like an autoworkers’ union member), making my FAVORITE face—the Elusive Smirk (which sounds like a Dr. Seuss character, doesn’t it?). Here he is: I call this creation “Mr. Mechanic Smirky Joe”
So anyway, these chicks on a cool blog were all talking about how they finally, finally have their milfy bodies back now that they’re several months (months!!) postpartum, and I have to say, it took everything I had not to become deeply hostile. I mean, I was pretty trim pre-baby, and it’s not like I’m some kind of grade-A finalist for 4-H Heifers of the Year or anything, but dude, I am over one year postpartum and SO NOT EVEN REMOTELY a MAWLF (Mother Anyone Would Like to Fondle). Things just are sort of more soft-underbelly than they used to be, I have total Mom Hair, and everything I wear looks like it should have a coordinating lanyard and tote bag. *sigh*
My rampant non-milfiness hit me today when I was in the locker room at the Y. Bee-bee and I had taken D-lightful to the pool and there was some kind of size 2 body/fabulous clothes-and-hair convention going on. It was all pre-teen girls and anorexic female CEOs, and I found myself wondering if perhaps there couldn’t be a separate dressing room for these people. I understand that they need to work out—how else can you maintain a trouser size that’s equal to my slacker former roommate’s GPA? But is there really a need to parade one’s walfy (Woman Anybody’d Like to Fondle) body around in front of the rest of us?
Luckily, I’m easy to talk down. All it took was finding out that Bee-bee was actually able to capture D-lectable in my FAVORITE new outfit (a corduroy jumpsuit and high-top boots—some people dress their kids like street urchins, I dress mine like an autoworkers’ union member), making my FAVORITE face—the Elusive Smirk (which sounds like a Dr. Seuss character, doesn’t it?). Here he is: I call this creation “Mr. Mechanic Smirky Joe”
posted by the stefanie formerly known as stefanierj at 9:05 PM
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