Mommy’s out knocking the dust off.

I attract certain women lately, not because they’re sexually attracted to me; perhaps they see me as a coach of sorts. It happened again last night.

“Hey, Coach.”

“What’s up, Kiddo?”

“I’ve been out of the game a while–getting a bit rusty on the bench over here.”

“Ready to take a shot?”

“I think so. I’ve been sidelined for twelve years with a man I’ve grown to dislike and a four-year-old who’s draining me.”

“All right. Take a lap around the pub and limber up.”

Coaches aren’t allowed to mix it up with players. Sad. I accept my role and hope she drinks enough to forget hers. When she returns, I ask important questions to see if she’s ready.

“Have you been practicing?”

“I got digits from a twenty-five-year old last night.”

“You say ‘digits’ again and I’ll have you scrubbing latrines.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you say twenty-five? That’s about a ten-year difference, no?”

“I know. He was cute. He walked me out to my car.”

“Did you seal the deal?”

“He went in for the kiss, and I blocked so I could ask him a question.”

“Let me guess: ‘Did you wash your hands and clean your nails, young man?'”

“No. I asked if he remembered my name.”

“Oops.”

“Yep. He forgot.”

“But, you kissed him anyway.”

“Well …”

“Fucking rookies. All right, look, you want to play the game awhile and stay off the bench, right? Don’t be so concerned about triviality like names, living situations, and investment strategies. If you’re going after high-haired baby apes, take them as they are, get your box stuffed, and move on.”

Here’s where all the buts come out because she hasn’t built up her emotional callus:

  • But, I have a child to consider.
  • But, what about disease?
  • But, what if I like him?
  • But, I’m a good girl.
  • But, it goes against my beliefs.
  • But, it grosses me out when I see older women with young guys.
  • But, what if my ex-husband finds out.
  • But, I just want to make out with him and not have sex.
  • But, how do I know if he just wants me for a one-night stand.
  • But, I have another ten pounds to lose before I’ll feel sexy.

I noticed her drink was empty, so I offered to help her along with a non-banned substance: vodka.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

“No, I can buy my own.”

“Suit yourself. Who’s your next target, champ?”

“I like that boy over there. He reminds me of Brad Pitt in his Legends of the Fall days.”

“Christ.”

“What?”

“Brad fucking Pitt? Really?”

“I could make it work.”

“You should reconsider the drink because you have set highly unrealistic expectations.”

“Aw, that’s sad.”

“Fine. Go poke Brad, and see how that works out.”

“I will.”

Naturally, she boldly approached him, realized he smelled of seaweed, Red Bull, and Axe Body Spray, and returned to Coach Phil with her tail tucked and un-fucked. I lost my patience and left the arena, to shower, sleep, and live to coach another dame.

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Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.

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