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When I was about thirty and single—in days before the Internet—I developed tactics for shopping that made dealing with the crowds easier. I didn’t shower, shave, or brush my teeth for three days before going out to hit the malls (in those days, a stubbly face was a sign of poor grooming rather than a fashion statement). On the fateful day, I dressed in raggedy, grubby clothes. A pair of jeans I’d dragged around the garage floor until they were grimy and reeked of oil and gasoline. A tattered shirt. A holey tee-shirt was the best, weather permitting. Then I’d chew and swallow three cloves of raw garlic, washing each mouthful down with a shot of whiskey. Finally, I’d take a fourth shot of whiskey and slosh it all around my mouth and gargle with it before I swallowed, and splash a little more onto my shirt. At the stores, I’d act a little unsteady on my feet and mutter and mumble under my breath. Worked like a charm. The crowds of mostly women would part before me like Moses and the Red. She sighed while she kind of slid in my lap and got her face close to mine.“So so bad.” I sighed while I slid my little hand on her boobs.“I’ll talk to him when he gets home.” She sighed.“Promise?” I asked before she kissed me and licked my tongue all slow. “Promise.” She said before I kissed her back. We made out for a little while and because she knew I wanted daddy as bad as I did, we didn’t have sex that time. Instead we just looked at all of the yummy pictures we had of him and even watched the video of the webcam show he did with her when they went on their first date. Then a few days went by after that and dad had been gone the whole time because he was on another exclusive flight for someone else, so it was like a week he was gone. Then when the Friday after he left came, I got excited because I knew he was going to come home and he had a whole month off. I don’t know how I forgot that he was coming home, but I did somehow, even though I was so obsessed with him that you.
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