I love my kids.
No, really, I mean it! They were a surprise – a huge surprise – but their squishy little faces grew on me fast. Thirty tiny fingers and thirty tiny toes! Triple the dirty diapers and triple the mouths to feed, as if my Hasslich you-know-what’s weren’t hanging to my knees already! All I know is it’s a miracle I have my mom and my sister to fall back on. And Kody, too, of course. He’s no slouch in the uncle department, which sure is lucky for me. It’s nice for the kids to have a father figure in their life.
What about Marcus, you say? Right. Well, I never did get around to telling him. I mean, I meant to. Really. I didn’t want to at first, but Coralie insisted he should know about his kids, and it got me thinking maybe she was right. But then I heard he married some chick named Ulrike something-or-other…? Okay, fine. Ulrike Faust – Ulrike Flex, now, I guess. Okay, fine! – not I guess. I know. Ulrike Flex: Art Book Collator, Windenberg native, creative, art lover, perfectionist, muser, founding member of The Renegades. Not that I know everything about her or anything. Not like I pulled an all-nighter stalking her Simbook or anything.
Yeah. Ahem. Anyway….
Now that my little monsters (I say affectionately, of course) are officially child-sized and capable of minimal self-sufficiency, I’m thinking its time for old Lola to pursue a few additional endeavors. Maybe go someplace where they call me something – anything – other than Mommy. Something like…. Lola. Or “Sexy,” or “Hot Stuff,” or “Musical Genius” will do. I can just hear it now – like “Hey, Musical Genius!” to which I smile kindly, as if I hear that all the time.
But really, anything will do. They can call me Plumhole if they want to, as long as their fingers aren’t sticky and they don’t wet the bed.
So naturally, the first thing I did after the kids’ birthday was find a job. Now, it’s not like we’re hurting for money around here, but it’s a plum of a good excuse to get out of the house, you know what I mean? The kids are in school now anyway, so what else am I going to do? I mean, I guess I could do what Coralie does, which is mostly running and yoga and cooking up fancy gourmet meals. Soccer mom stuff. But she barely ever leaves the house, which I guess makes sense for someone who was once abducted and impregnated by aliens – breeds a certain fear of the unknown, if you ask me.
But I’ve never been abducted by aliens, and I think even if I was, I’d still want my job. It’s just not in my SNA to sit still. I need to dance, I need to play music! I need to move and talk and joke and go places and see things and meet people and explore the world. You know? So I like being an entertainer, even if I am only a C-lister. I get to do all the things I love, and someday I’m sure I’ll do what I was born to do – to play the very best clubs in Windenberg, to blow kisses to my adoring fans while they chant my name. To have my pick of attractive groupies for dating and other such romantical activities. (Maybe that last part is my favorite.)
But for now, I’ve got to practice, and I do, every night after I put the kids to bed.
Between raising three kids and working towards a promotion, life is pretty busy. Luckily for me, I live in a big house with lots of built-in babysitters, so I still get out of the house pretty often.
Most Saturday nights you can find me in Windenberg hanging with the Spin Masters. Dominic Fyres says I’m the coolest mom he knows, which is kinda weird since, you know – he’s married to the mother of his children and all. Not that I mind – keep the compliments a’comin’, Dominic!
So Saturdays are my big night out, but I try to keep my wild(est) side in check. Sunday is my stomping day, and I like to be on my game when I plaster the neighborhoods with my face! I mean, hey – nothing wrong with a little self-promotion, right? If you want something, you’ve gotta get out and grab it by the cajones! That’s what I always say!
Ive always enjoyed my flyer-posting Sundays, because that’s when I get out there and promote myself to the public. You know – round up the groupies.
But lately I’ve been enjoying my route just a little bit more.
I saw her on my flyer route a few days ago, and recognized her immediately from our last run in at the park. It’s been awhile, and we’ve definitely both gotten older, but I’d know that gorgeous porcelain face anywhere. True, she doesn’t fit the mold of a groupie, but she piques my interest with that mop of crazy red curls and that smart-plum smirk.
I barely know her, but then, I don’t need to know her to want to kiss her.
Marian’s street always gets extra flyers.
And today is no exception. I’m always hoping to spot her, to run into her, to strike up a conversation, you know? I’m tacking a flyer to a street pole when I see her cross the street toward me (she’s wearing that cute little bowler hat again) and I realize I’m staring at her. I almost look away, but it’s then that I see she’s staring straight back at me. She smiles and she makes a beeline in my direction.
Is she flirting with me? I think she is, but it’s been awhile since I’ve flexed those muscles. My eyelashes flutter involuntarily, and I physically force them to stop. Rein it in, Lola. Get it together.
I’m thinking I should ask her out, that I should do it now before she’s gone. But Marian beats me to it, and I’m stunned. Next thing you know, we’re at some bar, and she’s holding my hands.
If you want something, you’ve gotta grab it by the cajones! That’s what I always say. Did I say that already? I think I said that already.
Maybe Marian wants me, and my hands are the cajones….
But I want more than hand-holding. I want that kiss.
I don’t grab Marian by the cajones. Because, I mean, she doesn’t have any, obviously. So I grab her by the waist instead, and I dip her as I plant one on her.
Well, plum. How’s that for grabbing life by the balls?