No, I'm not advocating doing an MILF. I'm talking about a Daughter Of one. And, no, I am most definitely not thinking of my daughter. [How laughable would that be?] Nor am I thinking of myself. [Although, seriously, my mom is pretty damn hot.] [Hi, Mom!]
I am friendly with a woman who is an MILF. Seriously. She is totally hot. When her daughter hits her teen years and starts bringing boy friends around, they are going to be dreaming of her mom at night. The daughter is 11 right now, so there are still a few more years to go before those boy friends get all gawky and tongue-tied and sweaty with desire for the mom.
I'm going to call the daughter Karen. Why that name? When I was in fifth grade, which this girl has just finished, the prettiest and perkiest girl in my class was Karen M. She nabbed the cutest and coolest boy to go steady with.
[Yeah, I know. Like I don't re-live those days with dread when I realize folks were going steady at that age. Or that we were playing Truth or Dare behind the Quonset huts at recess. Or that we were necking with our pillows on sleep-overs, trying to prepare ourselves for the real kissing that was going to be present in -- holy effin sh#t -- just months.]
Karen had a pretty face and was sweet and nice and not conceited at all. Her body was at that girl stage where hormones were starting to mess around and wreak havoc on her, putting fatty deposits in places that hadn't been fat since she was a chubby little ole baby. She hadn't shot up yet. She had shot out a bit.
It would have been unthinkable for any of us to see her -- or our own "healthy-bodied selves" -- as fat. None of us girls felt that way. None of the boys did. Certainly none of the parents did.
Fast forward in time to the girl I'm calling Karen today. She's a cutie. Not in the popular crowd, the fast crowd, the likely doing Truth-or-Dare crowd. She's one of those on-again, off-again friends of Daughter's. She was part of the crowd that had me seeing red at the beginning of last school year, when Daughter's friends seemed to be taking a perverse pleasure in being young bitches.
But she's not really a Heather, I guess. [My apologies to the real-life Heathers I know. I mean the ones who are fabulous and named Heather.]
I'm willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, particularly when Daughter attests to their goodness and, even more particularly, when it is Daughter's birthday and she has a party and all her friends are invited, regardless of the score card I might be keeping on them.
[Damn, even I'm not sure I'm going to re-read this long, drawn-out thing before I hit publish. Anyone there?]
My point to all this? Karen's mother is an MILF. And Karen's mother thinks Karen is fat. And Karen's mother would like to share that with people such as myself. And Karen's mother would like me to not give Karen a doughnut or a pizza without first making a comment about Karen's weight. And Karen's mother would like me to point out to Karen that Karen is heavy. And Karen's mother would like me to say Karen looks ridiculous in the bikini of Daughter's which she borrowed to swim whilst over.
I'm glad I wasn't face-to-face with Karen's mother as she went through this diatribe about her daughter's weight problem. Because she's an MILF with a kick-ass body who would have hurt me so badly when I punched her in her taut gut for saying such horrid things about her daughter.
I'm so very, very sad for Karen. I've wiped that score card I've been keeping on her totally clean. If anyone is going to need a non-judgmental, non-MILF friend's mother in the future, I'm thinking it's going to be Karen.