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Wednesday, August 4, 2010

I've Still Got It

Should hubs ever lose his mind and decide to up and leave me, I take great comfort in knowing that despite being 34 28, I'm still desirable in the eyes of certain members of the opposite sex; namely, men who are in their late forties and aren't playing with a full deck.

My list of current suitors include:

1. Rodney, the supervising manager of Chipotle. Last Week, he gave me an extra scoop of chicken after I complimented him on his handsome Southwestern-themed bollo tie.

2. Jed, the cart collector at Sams. Despite not being absolutely sure which state houses Georgetown University, he is a die-hard Hoya's fan. The last time I saw him, he shouted pleasantries about my alma mater across the parking lot (I didnt correct him by telling him that it was, in fact, my BROTHER who was a Georgetown graduate. I didnt want to crush him when he learned I got a measley psych degree from (grasp) a little ole' Baptist college named Liberty University.)

Anyhoo.... after being plagued with instant remorse for cursing out a faithful customer, Jed then proceeded to abandon his collection of shopping carts and chase me down before I got to the front door. After apologizing that I had overheard his tyrade, he offered to buy me an all-beef hot dog or slice of pizza (my choice!) from the food court.

3. Demond, the butcher at Albertsons. Reaching almost to my shoulder blades, Demond is the smallest of my potential boyfriends and also the one most obsessed with my fertility. Using adjectives typically reserved for the animal products with which he works, I have overheard him describe me (more than once) as having good "baby making hips" to his co-workers. (When I repeated this to hubs that night as we got ready for bed, he promptly asked me to "stand up" so he could check. He then proceeded to tell me my hips were "meh, so-so" and I could use a little more "junk" in the butt department, but all-in-all, Demond was "right on target" in his assesment.)

When I didn't see Demond for six weeks, I thought that he had been fired or took a job with the neighborhood slaughterhouse. I was about ready to look for a new beau when out of nowhere Demond suddenly reappeared.

"You've probably been wondering where I've been," Demond said, as he wiped his bloody hands on his already soiled apron. I really didn't want to know where Demond spends his time outside the deli, but he felt compelled to tell me (and the elderly couple standing behind me) anyway.

"I was in jail," he said, before giving me a wink and licking his lips. "Now I'm on house arrest. I'm allowed to go to work and that's it."

"Where were you at?" asked the guy who just happened to be passing by. "Did you happen to be at the Green Bay facility off 35?"

After comparing notes, the two men figured out that they had an incarcerated friend in common.

Before handing me my bag of sliced brisket, Demond told me that he had been arrested for a DUI. He described his arrest, his court date, and his jail term as if they were rides at an amusement park. He ended his tale with a flattering proposal. "If you want to holla at me sometime," he said with a knowing wink, "You'll have to drive because the punk a** judge done took my license again!"

I turned down the invitation on the grounds that next to mass murderers, drunk drivers are my least favorite group of people to ride with.

When I returned home, I crossed Demonds name off my "Summer Fling" list.

"Down one already?" hubs observed with a wry smile.

I was in no mood for his mockery. After he left the room, I began mourning my loss.

A good man is hard to find.

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