As I crack open my laptop and start writing this, it’s 3:30pm on Saturday afternoon and I am in a faded t-shirt with Thanos on it and I’m wearing a pair of loose-fitting Under Armor running shorts with no underwear.
I put this on quickly at around 11am this morning when Jamie came home with the girls from Ms8’s swimming and I was still naked in bed watching gay porn.
Let’s get that out there right now, I like to watch gay men have sex in porno. Specifically, I have a taste for older men (daddies) topping guys in their early to mid-20s - not quite twinks, but just above that age.
My preference is for that to be bareback and amateur.
Don’t @ me.
Anyway, I’m getting my porn fix and I’m still kind of bummed out about missing last night’s festivities with my swinger friends when I hear the garage door slide open as the car hits the driveway. I hop out of bed, grab the first things laying around on the floor and throw them on. Rushing over to the full-length mirror in our room, I fluff my hands through my hair so that I don’t look like I just crawled out of the hole they found Saddam Hussein hiding in, and make my way downstairs.
As the internal door to the garage opens, I get a call from my mom on my mobile. Seriously woman, why not text me? Who actually calls people unannounced anymore? My mother, that’s who.
“Betty… Your dad and I are thinking of going to lunch in Manly. Can we bring the girls with us?”
My first thought is, “Oh baby, Beth doesn’t need to shower or get dressed today!”
Jamie walks in as Ms5 and Ms8 curry inside the house.
“Jamie, my parents want to take the girls to Manly for lunch. Do you have any plans with them?”
He looks at me like I’ve just crawled out of the hole where they found Saddam Hussein, “Did you even brush your teeth? No, I have no plans. I might hit the driving range or hang out with Dave-o.”
Every Australian male gets a nickname and if they don’t have a good one, then the guys just add an “o” onto the end. Jamie has a buddy they call “Pocket Lint” which is the best nickname in the history of nicknames.
“Ok, Mom. What time are you thinking of heading out?”
My mother says that they’ll be at our house in half an hour, so I have to get Ms5 dressed properly, and get Ms8 in and out of the shower to get the stench of chlorine off of her. Ms5 is wearing a Mulan outfit because we’re perfectly ok with cultural appropriation in our family, but the Manly crowd might have less appreciation for this.
Jamie disappears upstairs as I coral the two kittens. To be fair, Ms8 is now at an age where I can speak to her like something akin to an adult and if she’s on board, she doesn’t need much direction. She’s off getting herself ready while I explain to Ms5 that Nanny and Pop want her to dress like a little girl, not a Disney Princess so that they can take her out for ice cream.
I gotta be honest here, I added the ice cream part as a sweetener to get her to go along with my plan with as little friction as possible. They wanted to take the girls out, then Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream is the price they’re going to pay to get a little girl that’s not dressed like a cartoon character.
By noon, my house is empty and I’m cooking bacon.
Yeah, you heard me. Health-conscious Beth has decided to smash through 250g of smokey bacon and three eggs for brunch. I’m even having white toast with too much butter and one teaspoon of sugar in my coffee.
After brunch and a quick clean up of the kitchen, I’m looking at our swimming pool with love in my eye. What I wouldn’t give to just whip off the Thanos t-shirt, drop my badly fitting shorts and jump naked into the pool and splash around.
Unfortunately, our neighbours have a 15-year-old boy who likes to perv on me in the backyard. I don’t mind normally, but I’m not going to torture the poor kid by wandering around naked out there.
I whip into my bikini, go for a swim, and then spend the next hour laying out in slightly overcast, Sydney afternoon sun. I can see the little perv occasionally staring down at me and I assume that I feature heavily in his spank bank material which is both gross and comical.
After letting the sun dry me off and giving the neighbours’ kid enough of an eyeful to keep him going for a while, I head into the shower in our bathroom and start out wearing my bikini. This is what they call a “veteran move” because it lets me wash the salt (we have a saltwater pool) off my bikini without having to put it in the washing machine.
I ring out the bikini after slipping it off and letting it sit on the floor of the shower while I lather myself up. Again, two birds with one stone - using the soap on my body and shampoo from my hair wash the bikini.
After hopping out of the shower, drying myself off, and brushing out my hair, I have a choice to make… Be an adult and get dressed or see if I can push for the entire day of being a slob.
And here I sit, half an hour later, writing this post in the same clothes I tossed on when I crawled out of bed just a few hours ago. I honestly don’t even remember buying the Thanos t-shirt and this entire ensemble was just laying on the floor next to the bed, so I assume they’re my clothes.
On an aside, I wrote a new piece on Medium today that was a little more personal about my career and my job. For the most part, it was well-received aside from one grumpy virtue signaller who got spanked by one of you lovely readers (thanks, Michael) and I wrote her a very spicy reply. It’s a good piece in my humble opinion despite her not liking some of my phraseology, feel free to decide for yourselves.
I’m going to try and write about something a bit sexier this weekend as well. I’m not sure when I’ll get around to it, but it will be published on Medium tonight or tomorrow. I’ve had this story kicking around my head since yesterday, so I should write it down.
Until then, enjoy your weekend!
Beth,
It was a pleasure to give that virtue signalling, post third wave (alleged) feminist a figurative spanking. I would not have wasted a real spanking on that poor excuse for womanhood.
What she wrote was crap - in the same league as that stupid little girl who asked your mum not to use the gender pronoun on her.
This is what turns gentle men, gentlemen and real women against what passes for feminism. It is like all identity politics, divisive, instead of inclusive.