Good lord, I can be swayed. Easily.
After a weekend of salty debauchery (and with lunch scheduled Wednesday with a boy - now man - from high school; nothing inappropriate, but given the unwavering crush I had on him for four years twenty-six years ago I must present in the least bloated light) I promised myself a health reemergence. Coconut oil smoothies, no wheat or gluten, mostly veggies down my throat.
And all I want right now is a piece of chocolate chip banana bread. A blogger whose tales I usually find overly look at me (then again, isn’t that the first requirement of blogging?) posted erotic prose about her breakfast this morning. Now it’s all I can think about.
It’s not just food. The married men who choose to flirt, I flirt right back. Sometimes consider more, sometimes take it to the edge of “Oh no you didn’t?!” Lest ye judge, I’ve read the passage about coveting thy neighbors’ bits and being a willing participant only exacerbates bad boy behavior. But it takes two to mambo.
And no, I’ve never slept with a married man. Or woman.
I’m a slave to the sales and marketing collateral Macy’s fills my electronic and in ground mailbox with. If they advertise it, and include colorful coupons with large lettering, I will come.
Not only can I be swayed, I can sway. More teen memories, senior year of high school and conversation in the girls room. Just a few friends considering skipping afternoon classes for a trip into Boulder and Swenson’s Ice Cream. Most on board, with the exception of sweet Teri Lynn. She hemmed, she hawed.
“Teri,” I connived, “In ten years no one will care we missed 7th period history.”
I think she got the chocolate sundae.