Where the MILFs Are…

I found myself up earlier than usual this morning and, on my way to the weekend gig, stopped at one of those local-yokel diners for a breakfast that, for once, didn’t include 24 ounces of Red Bull. All I was expecting was a clean, semi-warm place I could grab some coffee and a respectable steak-and-eggs plate. What I got was something different.

You see on Saturday mornings, while the college and twenty-something girls are sleeping off their hangovers or shuffling nervously out of some Middle Eastern student’s bed, the thirty- and fortysomething MILFs are out in full force. See, they’ve got SHIT TO DO on Saturday mornings, which usually involves a kid playing soccer or taking karate or learning how to build a computer from sticks and berries. And this morning, the diner I stopped in was filthy with them.

Literally, they were everywhere. In every booth. Their hair pulled together in scrunchies, their asses packed tight into yoga pants, their perfume mingling with the scent of frying sausage, their kids throwing maple syrup and hash browns everywhere without a care in the world.

I had my planned that my trusty iPad would keep me busy while I dined, but I couldn’t pull my eyes and ears off the magic all around me. The married ones bitched about their lazy-ass husbands still back home in bed. The single ones whined about the previous night’s date (in fact one of them muttered, and I quote, “I can’t believe I shaved my pussy for that“). It felt eerily like listening in on high school girls’ locker-room chatter, except they all had kids and mortgages and, judging from the amount of hot coffee and bloody marys being consumed, problems with alcohol.

But they repped their sets pretty well, with a surprisingly small percentage of asses approaching the “four axe handles wide” mark. And I think they appreciated the way I’d run my tongue up and down my coffee cup whenever one of them looked my way. Or how I’d point and scream, “Man, why isn’t that double cheeseburger on the menu?” every time one of them bent over to hoist a kid.

I tried to linger a bit longer. To hear more. To study them closer. To perchance befriend one of these women. But I had finished my breakfast, and the diner owners seemed a bit perturbed when I unbuttoned my pants and lit up my pipe. So I paid the waitress and left.

I enjoyed my time on the Planet of the MILFs. And I hope to return next Saturday.

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