Milkshakes DO Bring Boys To The Yard

Or, alternate title for this post (because it’s been a while since I had any made-up theatre):  Back Porch Theater:  Act One, Scene One — Temptation.

I got a milkshake from Margie’s.  (Not on the plan, but it was d-f’ing-licious, and even though today was my cheat day,  I still went to the gym … for old people water aerobics, but that shizz was hard as hell.  Those old people don’t play.  Everything hurts!).

Anyway, my milkshake did, surprisingly, bring some boys to my yard … or, more appropriately, my back porch, because I was sitting there with RJ enjoying the glory of sweet, high-fat dairy in my PJs. They were the waitstaff from the restaurant across the lot from my porch, a group of young men I absolutely love and who fall over themselves on the daily to give RJ treats.  They wanted to know if I wanted to get high with them.  I said, “Your weed high will never beat the high of a thoughtfully prepared peanut butter milkshake, fellas.”  I was probably not that eloquent, but I did say “fellas”, I remember.

I can't remember the attribution for this image.  Sorry, I'm high on dairy.
I can’t remember the attribution for this image. Sorry, I’m high on dairy.

The look they gave me may have been pity, but I’m going to choose to believe it was jealousy/longing.  At the end of the day, we probably paid the same amount for our respective highs (Margie’s ain’t cheap.  That shake, at $7, was almost a dime bag), but I’m secure in the knowledge that my high was better and longer-lasting.  Just ask my front butt.

Click thru to hear the song that's already running through your head now!
Click thru to hear the song that’s already running through your head now!
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