Forget the MILFs, it’s the MFNs You Have To Look Out For


…I think I’ll call them “Hell’s Muffins” as a nickname -MFNs, Moms who are Fucking NUTS. Case in point: I went to a rock festival this weekend with a friend, who’s married with kids. The hubby agreed to watch the little buggers, so I was her date. “Don’t worry,” I said somewhat patronizingly, “I’ll go easy on you tonight, not too many shots.” She turned to me and smiled a little too brightly. “Shots?” she said eagerly. “Goody!”

As we pulled into the parking lot she rolled down the window and called out to a bunch of women getting out of a mini-van.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s a bunch of my friends from my Mom’s Club – they had said that they were coming tonight – I’m so glad you get to meet them!”

I rolled my eyes. Well this is going to be a dull evening. Gee, let’s talk about little Billy having issues with the second grade because he’s smarter than the rest of the class. Or how Nathanial just started solid food. Or how Kerry just discovered this new nipple cream. Bleah. And then they’ll look at me and go, “So…what do you…do?” As if single, childless people are from Mars who obviously have nothing of real importance to discuss.

We had gotten there early so we met up with the Mom’s Club and joined them on the grass. Just as I expected, cute little picnic baskets were soon opening, with wine bottles and cheese and fruit platters being passed around. So nice and yummy. Damn it, why couldn’t I get my shit together to pack a picnic basket? Wait, I don’t even own a basket. Or a bag that’s not plastic and used for garbage.

I felt like the sulking teen, sitting with my arms around my knees as, indeed, school districts and vaccine shots and God knows what else was discussed. But then, the lights went out, and the music started.

HOLY FUCK. What had formerly looked like set dressing for an upcoming Activia ad was suddenly whisked away to reveal…jello shots? And Christ, who brought the raver glow sticks? Marcia, the rather plump mom of twin toddlers, was busy trying to light her fake-cigarette hash pipe. When the lead singer started his screaming solo, clothes began flying off around me. These women were dancing up a storm, shaking and screaming and rolling around as if possessed. I sat there, momentarily stunned.

“Did you just go through a breakup?” I hear a hiss in my ear. It’s one of the moms, hair wild, her eyes bugging out, all up in my face.
“Wha? Uh, no.”
“Death in the family?” She practically screeched, her teeth bared.
“No! Why–”
“Then you better get THE FUCK UP AND DANCE!”

I jumped up right quick and began moving to what I could vaguely recall seeing in a Zumba class, warily trying to steer clear of her beer bottle and lit cigarette, both of which were now swinging dangerously close to my head. I sought out my friend.

“Hey!” She greeted me joyfully, blowing pot smoke in my face.
“Having fun?”
“Yeah! Hey, what about those shots you were talking about? I wanna get started!”
I proudly took out my flask. “Little Kamikaze action?”
“Ooh, yummy.” She nearly finished all of the flask’s contents in one go. “By the way, Maxine made a great watermelon fruit salad, you should try it.”
I looked at her quizzically. “Yeah?”
“Yeah…with 100 proof,” she giggled, then hiccuped/burped. I remember seeing the watermelon, cut decoratively with patterns and a handle in the shape of a picnic basket. Damn, these bitches were hard core. No one would suspect a thing.

After body shots with possibly underage festival workers, pissing off several picnickers by dancing on their main course and staging a food fight with their appetizers, starting a mosh-pit, then bum-rushing the stage when the band asked for volunteers to sing their hit song, I was finally getting into the swing of things and partying right alongside the MFNs. Then, just like that, the show was over.

“So! Where are we going from here?” I said excitedly to my friend, wiping the grass and dirt out of my eyes. “Strip club? Follow the band back to their hotel?”
“Sorry hon, I gotta get home, we got soccer practice in the morning.”
“But surely—” I looked around. The women were quiet, packing up their cute picnic baskets, draining the melted ice from the coolers, dumping out the hash pipes. “But c’mon! Max…Maxine?”
“You’re cute! But I got to host a baby shower tomorrow so I’ll be up at 4AM baking cupcakes. Hey, you should come out with us next time! Mom’s Club is hosting a bowling night at East Side Lanes. I hear there’s cute single guys there, maybe your future husband?” she winked and nudged me gently in the ribs.
“Uh, thanks…I’ll think about it.”

As we trudged back to the car, smelling of beer, vomit and sticky watermelon, I marveled at the energy and stamina of these women. The Navy Seals better open a recruitment office next to Gymboree, cuz these bitches can get rid of Al Queda and be home in time for The Good Wife.

2 Comments

  1. Nikki B

    October 2, 2012 at 11:13 am

    The only kind of moms I can roll with. 😀

  2. Cameron

    October 2, 2012 at 12:11 pm

    I had a friend who was like this – she HAD her own website and was a *AHEM* model. One of the side guys use to give her money. I won’t lie, I might have been jealous. I wish I could get that hook up.

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