Thursday, June 13, 2013: We all Scream for Ice Cream

Dear Babies,

There I was on the self-check it line at Stop & Shop, thinking about this woman and her perfectly smooth behind.

I think about this woman often, more than she will ever know or–being complete strangers who passed each other once (once) as two ships in the night–could even begin to imagine.

It was last summer at Navy Beach in Montauk and as I sat sipping a fresh cucumber/mint/watermelon/vodka concoction (how pretentious, these signature cocktails, yet, how delicious!), looking out at the sun setting over the water, a beautiful woman stood at the shoreline creating her own show. She was tall, thin, and wearing a long black knit dress that was completely see-through in the twilight, unbeknownst to her. With her back to the majority of the beach, so was her french-cut underwear, and her tiny (teeny) perfectly smooth behind. In my mind I heard Anthony from “Sex and the City,” an ass like two scoops of butter pecan ice cream. In reality, I heard murmurs from a group of nearby men admiring the view. And I mean the view. Should I tell her? I thought at the time. But then, what good would that do? Would she go home and change? Borrow a shirt from someone, tie it around her waist? With her confident stance, it was almost as if she knew, but, with a behind like that, pre-thirty, pre-children, she didn’t care…

…I knew my long black knit dress was see-through under the blaring fluorescent lights at Stop & Shop this morning. And trust me, post-thirty, post-children, I cared.

But at that moment, what could I do? I stood and accepted my fate, scanning my Pledge (beep), scanning my pasta (beep), scanning my Dora (beep) and Monsters Inc (beep) coloring books, all the while, my mind elsewhere, at the shore at Navy Beach…

–Can I bag these for you? 

Hmm? Oh, no thank you.

Just goes to show you, you never know what people are thinking.

By Ewan Munro



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