I am a camp counselor for third grade boys last week was
visiting day for the mothers fuck goddamn some were hot. How am I supposed to
keep eight year old boys from drowning or eating mulch or getting tetanus when
some stunning thirtysomething brunette is telling me, “this is the best staff
I’ve ever seen”? You can tell they think they are so goddamn great because they
spouted out humans from their bodies and still look like pristine, unknocked-up
teenagers. It’s nearly impossible to lay good lines on the mother of one of
your campers on visiting day; there is no context and the timing never presents
itself. I tried and failed and will probably get in trouble because I said to
little Andy’s mom, “So…I can see where Andy gets his good looks.” That didn’t
go over well at all and all I got was a concerned gasp in response when I was
expecting something like, “Well, ya know, Andy’s daddy is going to be in prison
for a long, long, time….” And they lead you on and tell you how wonderful you
are and how much their kid loves you and how lucky their kid is to have you
again and how nice you look all tan from the sexily brilliant sun but nothing
comes of it, nothing happens except an alluring smile and a reminder to find
their kid’s towel. Maybe a nice tip at the end of the summer but you know
what? I don’t want your money. Keep it. You’ve given me enough all ready.
Don’t speak. Your visit today has said it all and let’s not ruin this rapture
let’s not blemish this beauty. Until next summer, Andy’s mom. Until next
summer.