Whenever I want to give any man I know a little token of my esteem, I go to a great bakery and buy him a good old-fashioned tart adding a naughty note that says…
The one thing every man wants.
It’s always a big hit.
As I was coming out of my door this morning to do just that, my two next door neighbors exited at the same time. The timing was so perfect it could have been scripted.
Allow me to describe our differences at 9:15 in the morning.
I have on black, baggie pants, a Give Peace A Chance T-shirt and a hoodie.
They’re both wearing Daisy Mae shorts that are so tight their thighs were screaming for help. Where my boobs weren’t even up yet, theirs were peeking over their skimpy blouses like perky puppies saying hello.
I also couldn’t help thinking how brave they were in spike heels at that hour. I would have undoubtedly fallen head first right down the stairs.
Why am I comparison shopping? Because tarts have more fun, that’s why.
Alright, so I’m not sure the two of them are truly tarts, but they certainly dress as if they were. And we mustn’t forget all that sex they have I can hear through the wall…these gals are doing something right I’ll tell ya.
We all left together so I purposely watched them careen down the street like go-go dancers en route to Vegas.
Yup…heads turned alright. A guy on his cell phone tripped on the curb as they went by.
Another one jumped out of the way like they were a float in a parade.
Even the two women eating croissants on the bench outside stared while crumbs peppered their running attire.
“Maxine, would’ja look at that? Such ambition.”
And no, no one looked at me as I made my way to Greenbergs to purchase that tart.
What I should have done was get Heckel and Jeckel’s number to slip into the card.
My friend is very cute and rich so something tells me they wouldn’t have minded.
But alas, I am from Connecticut, the Nutmeg State, where manners prevail and pastry is as far as my conscience permits me to go…