Sometimes a dude talks to a woman just to talk to a woman.
Honest. I watched the kids on the playground with a mom years ago. Idle talk. How old’s yours? That’s a fun age. Yeah. Mine’s older. That’s her. Yeah, the one hanging by her toes and singing P!nk songs. Sure, I’m proud – and surprised.
It was an AC/DC day this morning.
My toe hanger manager to sneak off the bars and ambled to my elbow. She stood breathless, hands on hips, like an Olympian waiting for the judges’ reaction to that. She sized up the young mom at my side.
Missing: One cheap little MP3 player and lots of 70’s stuff on it.
Last seen in the presence of a kid who looks a lot like me. DNA testing would be conclusive, I’m sure. It’s true … that’s AC/DC’s “Back in Black” and “Hells Bells” ringing in Madison’s ears through her stolen electronics.
But at least it’s not songs from role models Demi Lovato, Miley Cyrus, or Lil Kim.
I got the MP3 free for earning points after drinking more Coke products than recommended by the Surgeon General. (My pancreas may never rust if what they say about Coke’s bumper-cleansing properties rings true.)