To the man at the parade
I have so much to do I could spit. But I took Tin to Zulu this morning by bike because it’s Mardi Gras and remember I live in the city that Care Forgot, which is why you have to go to a parade on Fat Tuesday. Lately, since I’ve changed my life I’ve had a series of encounters. The man at CC’s who asked me in all honesty if I would give him a shot. The man at the parade who said, “You spoil your child. I would make him walk and hold his hand.” And then later, “I would protect you. And him.”
Parade man gave me his number and said to call him.
I’m not so demure. The guy at the coffee shop, I told, “My priority is my son, the fact that I’ve stopped and talked to you is the shot.” The guy at the parade I explained, “A mother’s job is to spoil her son. I’m in the middle of something, I can’t call you now.” Mr. Parade man said, “You don’t have to call now, call anytime, I like your attitude.”
And I say to anyone right now – AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!