Imagine my surprise to check passiveaggressivenotes to find my home town on there!

I will definitely try Mama Rojas!

Peace out, Homie!

Thank you for getting back to me. I’m usually very curious about everything, but, right now, I’m just antsy and uncomfortable.

It’s mostly because mamason’s not here.

Adding to my discomfort is the fact that this morning, without really thinking too much about it, I accidentally got dressed in one of my mother’s more attractive skirt, blouse, and jacket ensembles, complete with pantyhose, jewelry, lowish heels (I’m not going to make a fool of myself tottering around in public) and the most darling purse ever.

I’m terrible at make-up, so I said to myself: Fuck even trying! I grabbed a tube of the brightest red lipstick I could find, and just smeared it around the general vicinity of my lips.

Before I left for Whole Foods, I decided to take a leak. What a pain it is to piss when you’re in women’s attire! I was planning to just undo the zipper on the side of the skirt, pull down the panty hose enough to pop over the fence, pee, and be done with it.

But even the most astray plans sometimes get waylaid.

There was a puddle of water in front of the toilet, most likely caused when I lost my grip on the handheld master blaster in the shower while giving myself an ecstatically satisfying rectal pummeling earlier in the morning.

As I spurted ejaculate onto the tiles, the master blaster was dancing like a cobra at 1990s Ibiza rave.

Anyway, I knew that if I stood and peed, there was a good chance that mother’s skirt would drop to the wet (and possibly semen-tinged) floor.

So I did it the way ladies do. It was a pain, but I knew mother would be horrified if, while she were wearing that same ensemble, one of her acquaintances were to enquire: “Joyce, it seems as if you have a couple of rather generously sized dollops of semen residue staining the area just above your hemline.”

Skirt dry, bladder empty, I headed for Whole Foods, and spent a lovely couple of hours gazing fondly at the beautifully displayed food products, and flirting with fellow shoppers.

Then I came home, put away the groceries, turned on the computer, saw that mamason was still otherwise engaged, made a sad face, then went to a mirror, to see just how sad my sad face looked when I was caked in lipstick.

That’s when I noticed that the back of my skirt was tucked into the back of my panty-hose.

My face turned lipstick red with embarrassment.

I wished that I’d never given out my calling card to so many flirting shoppers.

Then I remembered an old zen koan that says:

“If life hands you lemons, save them in your pockets. You can use them later as make shift ball gags.”

Everyone tells me what a nice ass I have. (Think of two perfectly round, tightly packed snowballs sitting side by side on a pedestal in climate controlled museum of fine asses, and you’ll get the picture.)

I’ll bet some of the Whole Foods people were grousing to themselves that I was peacocking around the store that way, intentionally.

But I wasn’t. I’m just good at making lucky mistakes, that’s all.

“attention whole food shoppers: there is a gentle lady/man at customer service who claims he’s missing his mamason. if you are mamason please report to customer service immediately. thank you.”

However, I prefer San Marcos on SW 59th.

Tasty delish! (Even more so than those letters!)

Should have been: “What aren’t you hiding?”

Now it makes perfect sense.