Uncool

I'm riding my bike. I am pumping the pedals, harder and harder.
I'm starting to cramp because I just ate dinner, yet the exercise feels great.
I can feel my heart pumping harder than normal.
It's cold here, and although I'm warm from riding; my hands are freezing.
So far, I've burned about 430 calories.
I wish I had some music because it would make my ride more enjoyable.

Then it happens!

The flippin doorbell rings.

I get off my stationary bike, walk upstairs from my chilly basement, and it's my daughter's friends. Of course it is. Whether it's the phone or doorbell, it's usually my daughter's friends.

Most of them call me Mom, Mommy, or Ma. My daughter tells me-- "my friends think you're cool".

*BUZZ* Wrong answer.

I tell her-- "I don't want to be known to your friends, as cool."

Their friends get a charge when my daughter is wearing a pair of low-rise flared jeans that belong to me. I own some clothes that my daughters consider cute, but there's a limit. You won't catch me wearing a Bebe Sport shirt. I'll never walk around with Hollister or Abercrombie printed on my butt. Don't misunderstand me; Baby Phat looks adorable on a teenager, not a 40+ Mom.

So, if you're a 40+ year old Mom that owns the shirt below, please note, being stylish doesn't mean raiding your daughter's closet.