Jailbait

Ok I get it. This running malarkey. Today I huffed and puffed and did 10 mins straight(big achievement for asthma kid here - normally a sprint for the bus has me reaching for the old inhaler) and then a one min walk. Followed by another ten mins. It killed me - but all the stress of the day (been waking with knots in my tummy - the old work and what to do as time ticks on is getting to me; but that is another blog post...) just disappeared. Lungs felt open, skin felt tingly, I felt alive - invigorated and almost high. Plus I've worked out how to use my shuffle (turns out it aint that hard) and now have a kick ass soundtrack to pound along to. I just need a bit of Bittersweet Symphony, a smidgen of Beyonce and maybe a Prodigy track and I'm all set. Oh I quite fancy a Gaga 'Born this way' too... Trainer is still cute but vicious - and I ache all over. However, I am starting to see some signs of life in my arms and my legs are stronger. Get this - my right arm is stronger than my left - but my left leg is waaay stronger than my right. What the hell have I been up to? Gutted this week to have lost zero weight. Zero! All I have eaten is eggs, salad, meat and... that is it. Trainer tells me this is because I have lost fat, but put on all important muscle - which weighs more. Still, although my clothes now fit (size UK ten jeans again - hurrah) I wish the scales were kinder.

Anyway, my confidence boost of the week came on Saturday night when I went out with my good buddy K - a fab friend: up for fun, full of good chat and witty stories. We started off in a cute bar by the canal and chucked down a few vodkas - I said I wasn't drinking but it was a balmy evening and hell, I rarely get out so what harm would a few vodka lime and sodas do - couldn't hurt eh? Then we hit the Rising Sun - a sweet little pub that K likes - the kind with wobbly bar stools and a floor that your feet stick to. I clocked a cute boy stumbling up the stairs sporting a tuft of wayward hair and a peaked cap. This in itself is a miracle - I normally can't see the tv in front of me without glasses these days, plus I'd had a few - so he could easily have been a minger.

After putting the world to rights - and boy did we have lots to catch up on - K has just returned from 3 weeks in China no less - we ventured homeward - deciding to 'have one for the road' in a dodgy looking bar I have never set foot in. I perched at the bar and lo and behold but peaked cap boy suddenly was there beside me - now wearing a fluffy cardigan, over his shorts and vest top combo. I felt it my duty to tell him that his outfit (part summer stud, part winter granny) was a paradox. Why on earth I thought I was Gok Wan is beyond me - but I imparted my fashion wisdom while he explained that he had gone out at midday, dressed for summer and ended up staying out - but now it was rainy and cold, so he had borrowed a mate's cardi. This burst of chat brought forth his mate who decided that K and I were perfect fodder to try out his chat up lines on. They were dreadful but if a 20 year old is going to try and sweet talk you - what's the harm in listening?

Before I knew it a flock of cute boys had surrounded us and worst of all - I was involved in a drinking game. Now it looked complicated but in fact was mind numbingly simple: you all shake your clenched fists and then on the count of 3 show if you have a clenched fist (0 points) or a hand held outright (5 points). If 5 people play you have to guess how many points there will be - always a denomination of 5 and no more than 25. If you guess correctly you are out - free from drinking a horrible short or another. K guessed a number more than the folk present but just laughed and carried on downing her wine. I guessed wildly and lost. Before I knew it I was skulling Lambs Navy Rum (rum should be banned. No question - it is foul) and getting cheers all round - for losing.

Then I insisted on buying jagermeister and holding another round - because inside my head you see, I was 17 again. It was glorious - being surrounded by cute boy flesh - all desperate to impress the 'MILFs' they called us. I told them I was honoured to be a MILF and hoped to hold that status for a long time. One boy who wanted to be an actor (of course he did) had a look for Rob Lowe about him. I told him this and he said 'Who is Rob Lowe?'

Give me strength.

They all were too young to remember Fatal Attraction, any 80s music whatsoever and the last Royal Wedding. I felt sooo old and yet strangely young all at once. Peaked cap boy was flirting outrageously and declared that he had a large penis. As if that was a deal breaker for K and I. He was so cute, with such a toned, on display body that I felt like some old perv even taking a peak at his pecs. So once I had them all lapping up my stories and hanging on my every word - what did I do? Oh yes, I showed them pictures of my Husband. That's always a real turn on CM! K was embracing her inner youth with an unbridled passion and produced a round of sambucas for us all to swig. I kept saying how sober I was which was a clear indication of how sober I was not. As sweet peaked cap boy told me he wanted to kiss me - K dragged me off - not that I may add was I going to let the jailbait 19 year old anywhere near my haggard old lips - but just because we were old enough to be their Mothers and it was time to make a sharp exit with our dignities intact and our egos brimming over.

It was lashing with rain and we ran back, droplets dripping from our noses. I awoke the next day with a hangover to end all hangovers. Husband laughed at me and Sproglet jumped on me in bed to remind me I am a 38 year old Mother of 2, with many responsibilities. I dragged my sorry ass to Body Combat and tried not to vomit through it as I necked a litre of water to re-hydrate my alcohol ravaged body.

But boy did I have fun. It was worth it. Oh to be a MILF again...