Page 77 from 1001 Ways to Kill Your Mother...

We live in a college town. In fact we live in an area that boasts at least a dozen or more colleges within a 60 mile radius. This means there is no shortage of too-tan, vapid idiots yammering "Oh. My. Gawd." at one another with words like "PINK" and "JUICY" written across their asses and a rat's nest of fried hair piled up on their empty heads. Most of the time I only have to encounter these girls from behind the wheel of my car and as I've posted on Facebook before, I try to impress upon them this note of public service - it's a crosswalk, ladies. Not a fucking force field. Sometimes I have vivid fantasies of watching Uggs and Coach bags fly to the left and right of my hood.

Today we headed out for breakfast and were deterred from lines out the door at all the places I prefer. We eventually ended up at a chain restaurant - the kind without a drive through window. I thought MAYBE the morning was salvaged upon learning that because it was that magical time of day, right before lunch but we could still order breakfast, everyone got what they wanted. The Tornado got a grilled cheese, I ordered an omlette and home fries, The Dad got an appetizer sampler and The Viking got toast. Not because he likes it but because he puked in the car on the way to the third restaurant. (Yes. Some people would've gone home. I, however, was on a mission for an omlette and that kid is one of the reasons that my tits look like something out of the pages of National Geographic. He owes me.)

Even though we were all destined to nosh delightfully without necessity of compromise, it became clear immediately that the morning could still tank. On the way to our seats I was inwardly cheering about the proximity of our table to the bathrooms - a total score in case the Viking needed to hurl again, and I was oblivious to the three tables full of Oomp-Loompa colored college gals seated ALL around us. Once I knew I was going to get what I wanted to eat, my senses tuned back into my surroundings and instantaneously my ears were assaulted by some of the most mind-blowing conversation I've heard in a really long time.

My children regularly hear me swear. So trust me, I wasn't worried about what they were hearing or being exposed to. I just couldn't fathom the lack of depth all around me. I knew The Tornado would only have tuned in if the conversation went something like, "Oh my Gawd, Tiffany! I was so drunk when I got those Silly Bandz... I didn't even realize I hooked up with Spider-Man and the Hulk until they each left some Glow-In-The-Dark ones on the nightstand!" And none of them had wheels or a diesel engine so The Viking was only aware that they were blocking his view of the interstate and all of it's vehicular charm. I'm not talking about "blue language." I'm not even talking about recalling some drunk shenanigans which included discoveries like, "These are NOT my panties." (Who hasn't retold THAT story a time or two, right? Wait. Right??)

This was an entirely different league of dip shit banter. These girls were not only shrieking about all the losers and ugly guys they'd hooked up with, but also all the other "bitches" they'd scrapped with at parties. (The ONLY time it got quiet was when they were trying to figure out how to divide the check.) One of my favorite quotes was "I just called up that kid, Josh so I could make out with somebody after Tim blew me off." (laughter) "I totally wanted to hook up with Tim. He's so hot. Screw him. He doesn't know what he's missing." (high fives from her "girls" and more laughter)

Doesn't know what he's missing? My guess is crabs or chlamydia... yuck! My next thought was terrifying. What if someday one of my boys brings home some chic with a bad tramp stamp and some salacious word stitched across the ass of her sweat pants??? GAH! If they ever wanted to just kill me... a girlfriend from the "Oompa-Loompa Delta Ugg" sorority would nail the coffin shut. A friend of mine with no children told me I wouldn't have to worry about that for many years. Bullshit! 15 minutes ago the Tornado was a precocious toddler running circles around me and the Viking was a hazy idea called "Someday We'll Have One More." I'm going to blink and tomorrow will be the prom. This is exactly when I should be worried about this and that is why I've decided to order shock collars - one for each child. We'll start with a few episodes of Jersey Shore, ZAAAAAPPP!!! and move on to a stroll through the mall and several local tanning salons, ZAP! ZAP! ZAAAPPPITTY ZAP....

If this works, I'm slipping it on The Dad so I can take care of that snoring problem once and for all.