I was on the last bus out of the Port Authority in the wee hours of Saturday morning when I rubbed my bleary eyes raw in order to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.
This chicken fried Charo squeezed onto the bus with her daughter (the pubescent one standing and talking on the cell), and they proceeded to CliffsNotes their magical, whore-iffic evening together.
I would’ve paid more attention to what they were saying, but I was too hypnotized by the blue light hanging between the mother’s saggy breasts, which were threatening to poke out the eye of the dude sitting next to me. He wouldn’t have minded, though. He was so loaded he probably wouldn't have even noticed if one smacked him upside his bald head.
I know it must have looked like I was trying to burn a hole in her chest, but given the woman’s age I could've sworn that was Heart of the Ocean dangling between her tube socks filled with bowling balls. It wasn't. I was so disappointed when I [finally] made out the Coors Light logo on the pendant, but then it naturally begged the question as to how many times the grandmother mother had heard, "I'd like to taste your Rockies."
I was about to inquire that very question (what? I have a healthy curiosity) when Dina and Lindsay rang the bell for their stop. I then promptly left my mother a voicemail berating her for not exposing herself and accompanying me out to clubs wearing remnant curtain fabric from the Persians' dumpsters and a Coors Light light-up necklace atop her buh-bies.
Sheesh. We'll see what Mother's Day gift I get her next year.
155 to go!
No comments:
Post a Comment