Good evening, kids!

Today’s LFB assignment was to write a blog from one of the other LFB blogger’s perspective. It’s up to you, dear audience members, to research and decide who I’m trying (in my pitifully insufficient way) to imitate.

The day started like any other day, I suppose. I woke up a little disoriented, thinking that the cat was sitting on the pillow behind my head, purring in my ear, but it turned out that it was just another revolt of the denizens of my closet. After ruthlessly surpressing their pitiful uprising, I staggered my way into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for myself and the kids, but to my eternal shock and dismay, I was out of waffle mix! There was no having THAT this early in the morning, so I packed the kids in the car and hightailed it on down to my local supermarket to get me some.

As I steered the car carefully into my parking spot, I noticed a couple nearby with a young boy in the car seat. I had my daughter with me, and she saw this young man make gesture at her, which, thanks to my recent training in the subject, I clearly recognized as the universal eight-year-old symbol of eternal love – the dreaded pinkie finger.

I gave my child a nice little pep talk, and we proceeded to obtain our waffle mix, get back home, and cook up some golden-brown bits of waffley goodness.

Afterwards, we decided that it was time to go shopping. Mama needs a new pair of shoes!

We arrived at the mall and entered through the JC Penney entrance. I browsed the clothing aisles, kids in tow, searching for that one perfect outfit that I could wear to work at the Panty-And-Pancake House this evening.

Finally, arms overloaded with delectable bras and panties and not much else, I headed to the dressing room. I was in the midst of changing when I heard a woman ask her husband for his opinion on her outfit.

“Hmmm,” he murmured critically, “You could stand to lose a few pounds, I don’t know that this outfit does you any favors.”

Open-mouthed, I stood stock-still for a moment, unable to beleive what I’d heard. Then, before I could stop myself, I flew from my dressing-cubicle, nipples blazing, clad only in my panties and a lacy scrap of a bra.

I proceeded to give the man a piece of my mind, raking him with my scorn, leaving him a trembling pile of mush on the dressing room floor. Satisfied, I flounced my way back into my dressing room, got changed, and sailed out the door with my kids and prospective purchases in tow.

Score one for the ladies.