Okay so I manage to go to the grocery store alone yesterday.

It’s only because girlfriend refused to go with me. I would have taken her, I swear.

So I go to the deli counter.

He’s there.

My number comes up.

It’s my turn, and I can feel my face getting hot.

Bow chica wow wow…

And he says:

“What can I get for you today ma’am?”

Bow chicka woooorrrrriiiiiiiippppppppp!

He called me ma’am.

I thought we had something special.

I had this vision of us together just like a couple on the cover of a romance novel…the wind from the overhead vents delicately stroking my heaving bosom, his hard salami pressed up against my leg, the number 69 appearing on the “now serving customer number” sign above us.

Sigh.

Now I know it can never be between us.

I’m just another housewife to him. Buying cheese on a Sunday afternoon.

I had an orgasm at the grocery store.

At the deli counter.

You’re gonna shit.

Check it:

For some reason, I am simultaneously repulsed by and inexplicably drawn to, pardon me, the wop-ish man. It’s got to be because of that first scene ever in the Sopranos when Tony is totally giving it to some girl.

And it looked really fun, even though he’s gross.

The part of my brain that’s not addled by alcohol finds them greasy and revolting.

Greasy and revolting.

And sexy.

So when the Italian Stallion manager at the Stop & Shop deli counter is all like “what can I get for you sweehot?”(Rhode Island accent) “Is that thick enough for you honey?” (huhuhuhuhhhh he said it’s thick!) and “You have a great day now doll!” I wanna be all like “Show me your hard salami!” This thought of course makes me giggle to myself, which makes my Paisan think I’m flirting which I never do because I’m a proper married lady and wouldn’t dream of it. Much.

And so, without my permission, my brain (and I must have been ovulating or something because that’s the only explanation I have for this sudden lusty-ness in an otherwise frigid existence) made a mini-porn movie inside my head where this large, bulging man in a deli apron with chest hair peeking over the top bada-bing, bada-banged me right there on the pita breads… And it caused, ahem, a flood and a wave.

Right there at the deli counter.

I’m not even fucking kidding you!

And it gets worse.

Where I used to show up at the store on Friday mornings in my “I don’t give a shit because I’m a mommy now and I’ve given up on myself (almost) completely” brown velour pants, ponytail, and my sneaks, I am now going in my “I’m a bored suburban whore looking for adultery-American cheese at the deli counter” flirt-cut jeans and the only shoes I own that I think an I-talian man would find irresistible.

I even started wearing my Bio-fit Uplift bra with chicken cutlets on Fridays because it makes the girls look really, very nice.

This is not very good because I have to invent things to buy at the deli counter now. We really don’t eat a lot of meat and not even that many sliced processed cheese products and now I find myself buying things like Olive Loaf and I don’t even know what that is. But it’s colorful. And so I buy it.

It’s exaclty like how Sam the butcher on The Brady Bunch was always giving Alice the housekeeper a little extra meat on the DL.

You know they were totally screwing each other on the bloody rump roasts, right? You just know it!

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