Mary Panza

Housewife Tuesday – Secret Life of Boys

Mary Panza

I am fortunate in many ways. I have a healthy kid, a good face, a house, a car and a job. I am very fortunate. I use the word fortunate because in my mind, fortunes are earned and therefore should be valued. Luck is too random for my taste and it always runs out. Another area I consider myself fortunate is that I have always been allowed into the secret life of boys.

I was never the pretty girl that boys put on a pedestal. I am not frail. I am not weak. I was the girl that got into the inner circle of what the boys were doing. In my youth, the boys I hung around with were mainly smoking pot, drinking and listening to God awful metal. I’m here to tell you, nothing changes. I get to go where the girlfriends don’t. I get to hear them play the mother game. Now it seems funnier to me since when we do play everyone’s mother is dead. I’m not going to apologize. Sexualizing someone’s dead mother, when done correctly, is hysterical. A seasoned pro can tie in the dead grandmother and then, jackpot.

I can also take a fair heaping of abuse. My preference is to dish it out but I can take as good as I give. I’m also not easily offended. When asked about a new boyfriend (which I only make known when necessary) I will receive texts and voicemails all day long. Did he spider man you? Was dirty Sanchez invited? Was his dick as big as mine? Was ass play involved? Did you get his last name this time? (In all reality, that last question, Capri always asks me. Sometimes I know. Sometimes I don’t. The question is fair.)

I have been involved with someone for a couple of months. He will be referred to as 3b. Don’t ask me why. Just trust me. He is a great guy and I am very happy. In making myself known to him, I broke many of my personal rules. The rule that has been on the top of my list since my 20’s is NEVER DATE A MUSICIAN. It makes perfect sense. In those days long haired, marginally talented musicians were a dime a dozen. It was the 90’s and everyone that could hold an instrument was, in my opinion, a douche bag. I say this from experience. I’ve been with drummers, songwriters, and pretty much everything in between. I know what I am taking about. I will say, in my defense, that I have never been with a lead singer. Common sense prevailed there.

In my pursuit of 3b, I was careful. I was not the least bit subtle. I’m 44. I don’t have fucking time for subtle. I made sure he had a day job. I made sure he was serious about being an artist, and I made sure he wasn’t constantly reliving his wild youth. Then I had to ask myself if I wasn’t trying to relive my twisted days. The answer was that sometimes it takes one to know one and I know boys. And I like them. My boys are not hard to figure out. I try to keep them fed. I try to give them space. Above all, I try to keep them laughing. The occasional push up bra to get what I want doesn’t hurt either.

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