To The Teenager Boy Wearing The Offensive T-Shirt –
You know who you are. You are the boy wearing the offensive T-Shirt emblazoned with the message: Sorry girls, I only date models.
And you know who I am. I am the middle-aged, overweight mom who stood and glowered at you for a full thirty seconds after reading your T-Shirt. Or maybe you didn’t notice me, because I’m not a model.
But I’m here to tell you that I am a model – a model mother, wife and citizen.
I know I don’t look like a model to you, as my hair is highlighted gray instead of peroxide blonde. And if my hips are roughly double the circumference of the average super model, it’s because I pushed three babies out through these hips, you ignorant twerp.
If my silicone-free breasts offend you because they aren’t as large or firm as those you would find in the Sport’s Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, that’s because I nursed all three said babies with those breasts. If these tired old boobs want to lie down and rest, then I say they have it coming.
You probably didn’t notice my legs because I’m not mincing along in stilettos.
I’m wearing sensible shoes because my feet hurt from years of walking the floor with fussy babies and standing on the sidelines cheering at my kids’s sports games.
I know that my face isn’t smooth and wrinkle free. Those lines are a roadmap of my life and the crap I’ve had to put up with from punks like you. At least you can tell I’m pissed off by the expression on my Botox-free face.
Furthermore, the bags under my eyes aren’t heroin chic but the real thing.
They are the product of years of parenting-induced sleep deprivation and nights spent lying awake worrying about my daughters going out with snot-nosed kids like you.
So I am a model, just not the kind you’re looking for.
My advice to you is to go home and kiss the mother who brought your sorry butt into this world. Or, if she let you out of the door knowing you were wearing that T-Shirt; then slap her for me.
This post originally appeared in Brain Child Magazine