Motherhussy

I was going to post about my sister's "ex" boyfriend and how sick he makes me, but I won't today

I am an admitted starer. A “starer” is one who indulges themselves by unapologetically staring at others for amusement. I’m addicted to it, almost to the point of embarrassment. Almost, but not quite. Many times my husband thinks I’m checking out other guys, when in reality, I’m just staring at other guys. “Checking out guys” and “staring at guys” are two are completely separate activities. Ask any blue-blooded starer and they’ll agree with me.

This morning while I was taking a walk down by the beach, I stared at a lot of people and a lot of things. I think some of the people may have thought I was weird, or rude, or a pervert—or a weird rude pervert. I am and was. So, to make myself feel better about being so weird, and rude, and perverted, I have written the following explanations/apologies to some of the many victims of my malicious gaze:
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Dear Lady Jogger Wearing a Hurley Tee Shirt,

I am very sorry I stared at your boobs while you were jogging past me. Yes, I am a woman. No, I am not a lesbian. But, yes, I was looking at your boobs. I couldn’t help it; they were round and huge and resembled overfilled water balloons. The way they stood guard above your sickeningly tiny waist made me uneasy. The way they preceded they rest of your body by 30 seconds almost made me consider crossing the street before we crossed paths. But I couldn’t…stop….staring. And, okay, maybe I was a little jealous too. Until I have a pair of my own, fake boobs will continue to fascinate me so please ignore the next time I stare you down, because it WILL happen.

Yours Boobly,

Charise
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Dear Hobo Lady Sleeping on the Bench,

I know you were asleep, so you may not have noticed me staring at you. I was. I even slowed my speedwalking pace down a notch so I could get a better gawk. I don’t know if I was as interested in you as I was with what was in your shopping cart. Indeed, I did find the many layers of your soiled clothing intriguing, and I would love to know how you got your hair to do that, but more so I MUST KNOW WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PACKING IN THAT SHOPPING CART? It hissed at me as I walked by, yet I saw nothing more than a tangled maze of paper bags and old Tupperware. You were more disturbing than the lady with the big watery boobs. Congratulations.

Affectionately Yours,

Charise
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Dear Blubbery Guy with the Thick Lenses and Balding Spot,

It always worries me when someone stares me down while I’m staring them down. You did that. Yes, you in your bug frying lenses and faded black tee. Were those stretch jeans you were wearing? I am over the age of twelve so please don’t look at me that way. Just by looking at you I can tell that you spend half of your day prowling the beach checking out the little boys, the other half of the day you spend online in Disney chatrooms. You will be caught.

Prosecutingly Yours,

Charise
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I guess three out of 103 is a good start. There are just so many people to stare at and so little time. I can’t wait until my trip to Utah, I get to fly out of LAX—it’s an invariable cornucopia of oddities for me to dissect with my eyes.

posted by Anonymous @ 6:09 PM