Hi. I think we need to straighten something out.
I’m really not into you right now.
I know that may come as a shock, and I know it’s a little disappointing, but something is missing here, and I think I know what it is: a kid.
I think you’d make a great MILF but until that day, I only respect you as a person, instead of objectify you as a past-her-prime momma. You know, like I could come clean your pool while the hubbie is at work and the kids keep whining at you to make them a grilled cheese.
Now that’s sexy. I don’t want to say that I’m into stretch marks—though if you need help rubbing something on them, I could be the man to do it—but that aura of sleeplessness and unspoken resentment of soul-sucking midgets combined the gushiness that only a mother could possess is irresistible.
So here’s what I propose: go make yourself a ticket to MILFdom.
I don’t care who gets to slap their last name on the kid, and I’m definitely not offering to help you get there, but give it four or five years of painstaking child-rearing and I’d be happy to let your kid call me Dad and let you call me Daddy.
