Diary of a MILF in Progress

Eye of the beholder

So, I was talking to Natalie the other day.  And the topic turned to perceived levels of attractiveness.  On the few occaisions when she has her husband on hand at a party or whatever, I confess that I flirt madly with him.  Natalie is totally OK with this, and even encourages the behavior, since we are secure enough in our friendship and our marriages that we all know nothing is going to happen so we can interact with no subtext or strange implications.  Apparently the two of them have discussed, as she delicately put it today, my "various attributes."

"That must have been a pretty short conversation," I said.  "There aren't too many things in the 'plus' column when it comes to my looks, and it goes even further downhill if you consider what I look like naked."  [Neither Natalie nor her husband has actually seen me naked, so get that thought out of your head right now!]

"You're delusional," she shot back.  "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Should I go head to toe, or in order of magnitude?  My hair is frizzy and can't hold a style- it's not smooth enough to be straight, but not enough body to be curly.  I've got dark circles under my eyes, no matter how much sleep I get each night.  These..." I said as I indicated the vertical wrinkles between my desperately-in-need-of-a-tweeze eyebrows, "... make me look like I'm pissed off all the time.  My complexion is blotchy because of the rosacea, so I look like crap if I don't have my make-up on.  Unless pear-shaped is making a big splash these days, the difference between my non-existent bustline and my childbearing hips is not at all appealing.  I've got a poochy tummy from the c-sections, no matter how many Pilates sessions I've done in the past four and a half years, and don't even get me started on the stretch marks that come from three pregnancies.  My legs are short, my calves are so chunky that I can't find boots to fit except at the plus-size stores, my butt is all cellulite-y.  I can't get a tan, so all my freckles and moles are nice and prominent against my sickly-white skin.  Between the scars from the moles that were removed and the moles that are still there, you could connect the dots on my back to make every constellation visible to the naked eye.  My triceps are saggy, so I don't like to wear sleeveless blouses..."

"STOP!" Natalie admonished me, rolling her eyes. "Really, just go ahead and shoot yourself now and put us all out of your misery."

A day of ups and downs

Yesterday, while I was fighting with the shredder (we're moving to the new buiding soon, and I am purging much of the extraneous paper from my cubicle, most of which contains semi-confidential information), Natalie said, not in a lascivious way, but a possibly complimentary way anyway,
"You look like you're hot."

Then she kind of rolled her eyes and said, "I don't mean 'hot' like Hot, but 'hot' like..." and then seemed like she was frustrated with herself.  "So, are you saying I look good, or that I look as though I'm about to break a sweat?" I laughed.  Being that is was already 85 degrees at 10:00 a.m., but also that I was wearing a camisole with no bra and a sheer blouse, it could go either way, you know?

She laughed, too, saying, "Like at hottie.  That's the hot I meant  to say."

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I had my annual review yesterday afternoon.  My boss actually emailed it to me prior to our meeting, and we had discussed the bulk of it, so all that was left was to see the actual wording of the comments, the numerical rating, and confirmation of the exact amount of my raise and bonus.

The rating was what I expected, I supposed, and the raise is decent.  The comments, however, are seeming more and more condescending as I think about more.  One in particular is sticking in my craw.  The one about "interacting appropriately...given [my] support function."  So, I guess I should be fading into the background and not making eye contact with upper management or other high level attendees during meals and social functions involved with my meetings.

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Work is wicked busy lately.  It's almost time for school to start (for everyone except me, now that the Younger Son is beginning preschool, the Elder Son is in first grade, the Daughter is in fourth, and the Husband has added a first period upperclassmen course to his schedule), so life at home isn't exactly leisurly.  I've gained and lost the same three pounds since May.  I quit smoking after my last lapse and don't want to fall off the wagon again.  Booze and comfort eating will only sabotage my diet.  I think my only stress relief is going to have to be getting laid.  If the Husband doesn't get his act together and treat me a bit nicer in the next month, Casey and I are going to have to pick up where we left off last year once we get to the Fall Conference.

We hate to see them go, but we love to watch them leave

I bumped into Natalie in the hall yesterday, and she passed off a distracted greeting.

"What are you grinning about?" I asked her, suspiciously.

"Oh," she answered, blushing slightly, "I just saw Dan Rydell in the hall."

"Got it," I said. "He is nice to look at, isn't he?" She nodded in agreement.

So this morning, when I saw that the Marketing department was pretty full staffed, I gave her an update.

"If you need to get any photocopying done today," I told her, "the scenery is good at the copier over by the corner offices."

"Mr. Rydell?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

"And Mr. McCall. Probably Isaac, too, but I haven't seen him yet."

"Hmmm, yes, I do have some things I need to get copied today," Natalie trailed off.

Smoky

Casey, I'm saying flirt with me, I'm not playing somebody else.[snip] Flirt with me. Tell me why you like me better than Sally.
I do like you better than Sally.
Tell me why.
I don't understand...
I don't think you're ever going to have sex again. I've got to go.

You're smoky.

I'm sorry?
The difference between you and Sally- you're smoky.
I'm...smoky?
You're smoky. You're a lot of other things, too, but you're smoky.
I don't know what that means, but I like the sound of it. Tell me what it means.
ah, It's hard to translate...
Try.
You'll make a joke.
We're flirting, it's OK.
Are we really flirting or is this you pretending to be you, flirting with me actually being me?
You think I'm smoky?
Classy...impressive...sexy...was sexy going too far?
I-i-it was fine.
(smiling) You're...smoky.

Sports Night, season 1, episode 12- Smoky

I have a favor to ask of you, my readers (all two of you.) I am trying to figure out what is sexy. There's a fine line between sexy and slutty. There are elements of "innocence" that are anything but innocent. There are the Sally Sassers of the world, the nineteen foot tall women whose bodies were put together by technicians very close to God, women whose legs go aaaaall the way to the floor. I can't compete with that.

Yet I hold out hope. I strive for whether I can be smoky. Help me out, guys. What is "smoky"? Is the implication as alluring as putting it all out on the line? What is the appeal in seeing us wear your white dress shirt? What is hotter- a plunging neckline, or the knowledge that there is a lacy bra underneath a business-like suit? Is crossing into traditionally male territory- the cigar smoking, the scotch sipping, the knowledge of power tools, a rabid interest in contact sports- a turn-on or an indication that we are not womanly enough to be attracted to?

Let me into your brains, my friends, and help this girl to understand!!

The Husband should be quite grateful

I got dressed this morning with the idea tickling the back of my mind that most of the boys were not on travel, and that I didn't have any meetings tying me to being at a certain place at a certain time, which leads to a maximum amount of interaction at the office and chances to chat.

My mock-wrap jersey dress was clean, and the unpredictable nature of the weather this week made it a good choice. Because the recent rain has resulted in a cooler day today, I opted not to go bare-legged and I chose closed-toe shoes. Since I was running a bit late, I hadn't had a chance to wash and blowdry my hair, so I spruced it up with a curling iron.

As I stopped into Nancy's desk to see if she wanted anything from the cafe when I went to get my morning chai, one of our VP's was leaving the boss' office.

"Very nice," he said, appraising my headband, the cut of the dress, and my high heels all in one sweeping glance. I may have batted my eyes slightly when I thanked him for the compliment.

Later, I stopped in to say hello to Isaac.

"Your hair looks different," he said, pondering.

"I curled it," I explained, "nothing elaborate." So we chatted for a few minutes, then I went on my merry way. And I made sure Isaac had a chance to see that I had hosiery, just in case he felt the need to speculate about thigh-highs.
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After lunch, I poked my head into Dan's office.

"Just saying 'hi.' I'm just being neighborly, and I saw Isaac earlier. I didn't want to be accused of playing favorites by checking in on him, but not on you."

"No offense taken," Dan assured me. "Seriously, it's not big deal if Isaac is your favorite."

"Honestly, I've been accused of favoritism before!" I told him. "Although who my favorite member of the-sales...marketing...customer mangement...whatever-team you all call yourselves these days seems to change. I think it's your turn, actually."

"Alright!" Dan smiled, "Let the rumors fly."
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A few minutes ago, I saw one of the technical guys, and he waved me into his office to indicate that he was almost done with his phone call.

"Hello, dahling," he vamped. "You look fabulous today, by the way." Totally unsolicited compliments! My favorite kind! We talked of the emergency evacuation earlier in the week (false alarm) and how our jobs drive us crazy with the "hurry up and wait" aspects.

"Hey, how are things looking for the fall conference?" he asked.

"They are looking just fine," I replied.

"So, you are indeed going?" he asked. "I want to have fun in Florida, so I need to know that you are going to Florida."

"Of course I am going to Florida. I have to go to the fall conference every year; the committee meetings cannot take without me because I plan and run the committee meetings. The committee meetings are always held during the fall conference."

"The conference is only two days this year, though?" he asked, as we walked to the elevator so he could attend a meeting.

"I'm going for longer than two days. Maybe you only get two days..." I parried.

"Well, I guess you're just special."

"You bet your ass I'm special," I reminded him. "I suppose I need to check the overall schedule, make sure I have an evening free when the whole technical gang is in town."

"Yes, you do need to," he fired back. "Your dance card can be full, but it can't result in conflicts."

"Just so you know," I warned him, "the marketing guys are already bidding for my time." One marketing guy in particular noted that we may finally have a chance for some uninteruppted time once we are at the hotel, but that doesn't need to be publicized.

"Face it, Dana, the technical guys are just more fun that the marketing boys," he prodded, as the doors opened.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," I said, as I stepped away from the closing doors.

Truth be told, all this attention has made me feel a bit sassier than normal. I think that the Husband and I may need to put the kids to be earlier tonight.

Massaging egos won't violate our harrassment policy, will it?

I stopped into Isaac's office yesterday.

"I just wanted to say 'hi' since I didn't get a chance to earlier," I began.

"He looked at me suspiciously. "You're only seeking me out because Casey isn't here," he countered.

"That is not true!" I protested. "I very often stop in to say hello to you."

"When Casey isn't here," he persisted. "When he's in the office, you seek him out. Or Dan."

"I seek you out way more than I seek them out," I noted (correctly, I might add. For every time I go to Casey and Dan's office, there are at least two or three visits to Isaac's.)

"I'm in the office more than they are," he countered with mock indignation. "That's the only reason."

"Listen, I can't help that you are feeling some sort of...intimidated by Casey or Dan. You've got your little complex or something. Seriously, can't you just enjoy that you are the person who is here today; you are the person who bears the benefit of seeing me with my swishy dress and painted toenails and my strappy shoes..."

Isaac swiveled his chair to check out my claim.

"No stockings," he mumbled, slightly disappointed.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, nothing!" he claimed, feigning innocence.

"By the way," I purred, "neither Dan nor Casey is privy to the fact that my stocking are usually thigh highs. You're the only one who was there when I revealed that tidbit. When cooler weather comes back around, and bare legs aren't as much of an option, you'll know something that they don't."

A thoughtful smile crossed his face. And I knew that my attention to Casey and Dan was forgiven, at least for the time being.

Labels: My boys

What'cha waiting on, McCall?

An email exchange from earlier this week:

To: A bunch of people
From: Dana
re: May 18

Natalie and I are going out to El Perro Fumando this Friday around 5, should anyone care to join us. (Some of you already indicated that you care to join us, but insisted on a reminder, since apparently I'm everyone's secretary these days...) Anyway, join us if you can, and if you can't, we reserve the right to talk about you behind your back ;-)

To: Dana
From: Casey
re: Re: May 18

Talking about me behind my back sounds ok but I think it's better if you talk about me while I'm standing right in front of you! ;)

To: Casey
From: Dana
re: Re:Re: May 18

Come stand right in from of me and I'll talk about you as much as you'd like me to.

(He still hasn't taken me up on that, but the day is only halfway over. I don't really expect him to show, although it would brighten my day.)

Happy MILF's Day

Oh, was yesterday Mother's Day? This past weekend was supposed to include some sort of recognition for me? Here were my gifts for Mom's Day:

• The chance to spend quality time with all three children while The Husband played some golf on Sunday morning
• A bonding moment with my mother-in-law, as I finished cleaning the house before she babysat the progeny so that I could get to church on time, since The Husband wasn't home from his chili-tasting contest
• Time to connect with my mother, as she and I helped my sister set the table and clean up after dinner (Sis cooked, since she was the only non-mom female in attendence)
• The Husband refrained from making a smart ass remark about my "Hot Wife" shirt (well, didn't fully refrain, in that he said "Since it's Mother's Day weekend, I won't make a joke about the shirt being false advertising.")

All joking aside, it was a fine Mother's Day. The Daughter made me a card and a cardboard/popsicle stick flower in art class, The Elder Son had a gift bag created by the kindergarten with a spot of tea and a decorated spoon (very cute), and I got lots of hugs and cuddles from The Younger Son, who is still a bit young to be expected to participate. But I do miss the days when people were surprised to find out that I was a mother, based on how I still looked like I was too young/thin/cute to have gone through pregnancy and childbirth.

Color me surprised

I stopped into Dan's office to say hello, and as we were talking, Isaac stopped in as well.

"I'm seeing red all day today!" he said, "I just got done talking to Ruth, and now Dana's here." Ruth, like myself, is a redhead. Just a few days ago, when I framed the timing of an event as "back when I was still a blonde," Casey noted that Ruth and I are the only redheads in the office. I mentioned this to the guys. They thought for a moment, trying to establish if anyone else sported a fiery head like mine.

"Sue has some red, doesn't she?" Isaac asked, referring to my and Ruth's boss.

"Weeeell, sort of," Dan hedged, "but hers is red from being colored not red because it's red."

"How do you know for sure that Ruth and I are natural redheads? We might color our hair too." I countered.

"No, there's a difference. My mom used to color her hair, and my dad would be askin' 'What did you color your hair red for?!' and she'd be all 'Well, I didn't mean for it to be red!' Your red looks like you are supposed to have it that way."

Which is good to know, considering the amount I pay in upkeep to have folks asking why I stopped lightening my hair to blond and reverted back to my "natural" color.

Flirtus interruptus

Casey was in on Monday, but as soon as we started to chat, one of our co-workers from the third floor stopped by and monopolized the conversation (for a long enough time that Casey insisted that I sit down, because the idea of my standing in high heels was starting to hurt his own back!) and before I knew it, quitting time had rolled around and I had to pick up The Daughter and the Elder Son from school.

Casey was in again today, and I stopped by just before noon, on the off chance that he had not gone out with the other guys (Shel mentioned that she saw "her boys" heading to the elevator while I was in her office moment earlier). And, surprise surprise, he was there working on the computer with his back to the doorway. I sauntered in and rubbed his shoulders to get his attention. We made some small talk about the recent benefits meeting, and how people get worked up about nothing whenever there is talk of changing how the bonus pool is distributed.

"You know me, Dana," Casey sighed, "I don't count on that money no matter what. If you give me a dollar more than what I've got now, I'm happy."

"I understand," I replied. "I mean, I'm happy that I get a bonus, even if it's going to be smaller than what we used to get. The fact that our raises are bigger means more to me anyway." And I saw an opening to change the direction of the conversation.

"Which is more fun anyway?" I asked, "My budgeting the bonus money, or shopping for a new outfit with strappy shoes?"

"Definately the strappy shoes," he smiled, admiring my high heeled sandals and newly painted toenails. "I like the way those pants fit, by the way."

"You missed it yesterday," I pouted. "I had the good underwear and thigh high stockings. But you weren't here to notice. Not that you would have known just by looking..."

"See, you really should go with no underwear at all!"

"Ah, but you can't tell just by seeing me whether I've got a thong on or nothing at all. Besides, I need to wear something when I have a skirt on, since I do have children who might need to climb on me before or after work."

"Alright," he conceded, "I can see your point. But turn around, let me see if I can tell the difference today....hmmmm....nope, I can't actually tell. So, I'll assume you don't have anything on at all."

Just then Shel appeared at the door.
"I'm sorry to interrupt social hour," she broke in, "but do you know where I can find a cart? The meetings room is locked up, so I can't even borrow the ice bucket, and I need to get set up for this meeting..."

"Check with Natalie," I offered, "I think she has a key. Otherwise, I don't know where else to look."

And, despite her contention that she was wicked busy setting up the meeting, Shel proceeded to start a discussion.

"Hey, Casey, I didn't know you had those tattoos! They're awesome."

"Thanks," he replied, pulling up his sleeve a bit more to show the design. "They go all the way across my back. I can't believe you didn't realize that I had them, though."

"Dana told me you had tatoos, but I didn't believe her. After all, there's no reason she would have to see you with your shirt off."

"I've worked down the hall from Casey for almost two years," I smiled. "This isn't the first time he's worn a short sleeved shirt, you know."

"So," Shel turned her attention back to Casey, "didn't it hurt to get that much done? I mean, mine didn't hurt much, but I think that's because I was drunk."

"What do you have?" Casey asked. And suddenly, Shel was anxious to leave.

"I've, uh, gotta set up for this meeting!"

"Seriously," Casey prodded, "what's your tat?"

"It's nothing, no big deal, I'll tell you...at a later date," she stammered. And rushed out of the room.

Shaking our heads, we tried to regroup to our earlier conversation, but the mood had been broken. I left to eat lunch, Casey tied up the last of his work, and perhaps we will try again next time...